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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27497065">Prince Dickface</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unosarta/pseuds/witchGirl'>witchGirl (Unosarta)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fire Emblem Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fire Emblem Three Houses, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek Hale, Crests (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Kidnapping, Light Bondage, M/M, Magic, Time Skips, Top Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:09:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>61,174</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27497065</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unosarta/pseuds/witchGirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles is a commoner and Derek a Prince, and they work out their unresolved sexual tension the way God intended: helping train high schoolers to fight wars.</p><p>(No Fire Emblem knowledge required)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>209</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Did I create a spreadsheet in which I planned out every character's personal abilities, growths, skills, spells, and crests? Yes. Did any of it make it into the story itself? Like maybe 1%. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Scott C</strong>
</p><p>Stiles sits on the bed in Scott’s room of the dorm, watching as his best friend and sort of brother paces back and forth in front of him, lip clenched between teeth and brows knitted in thought.</p><p>Stiles knows better than to interrupt; he’s never been much good with people, but he can read Scott like a book.</p><p>He waits until Scott has stopped pacing, until he turns to look at Stiles and begins to explain why he dragged him here.</p><p>“So,” Scott begins.</p><p>“So,” Stiles repeats, unable to help the little thrill of excitement over whatever is taking Scott <em>this</em> long to get out. When they’d spoken the previous night, Scott had mentioned a girl, and Stiles is prepared to live vicariously through Scott’s romantic life.</p><p>“I… might have been recruited to the Black Eagles,” Scott says, his face and tone almost sheepish.</p><p>It’s… certainly not what Stiles was expecting, but he pastes a smile on anyway. “Holy shit, dude! That’s awesome. They’re super exclusive, I can’t believe they came looking specifically for you,” Stiles says, not entirely feeling the excitement he puts into his voice.</p><p>Scott’s face crumpled. “You don’t like it.”</p><p>“What, no,” Stiles begins, but he can tell Scott sees right through him. “I just mean… they’re hardly going to let me come with, are they? Everyone knows Prince Derek hates magic users, and I’ve never been good with weapons.”</p><p>Scott sits down heavily on the bed. “I’m not going to join if you can’t too,” he says, holding his chin up like it’s such a sacrifice to say.</p><p>Stiles rolls his eyes. “Isn’t that girl you like in their house? Andrea or Annie…”</p><p>“Allison…” Scott sighs, sounding like he’s already given up on her.</p><p>Stiles nods. “Exactly,” he says. “Just because they won’t let me join doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go for it. Professor Deaton is great, I’m sure he’ll help you learn a bunch.”</p><p>“But,” Scott almost whimpers. “We promised… we’d do this together. I don’t want to abandon you in a house full of people you don’t know.”</p><p>“Sorry, it’s just,” Stiles says, trying to hold back his laughter, “that’s such a you thing to say.” Scott looks like Stiles has kicked him, so Stiles bumps their shoulders together. “I only came here for you, dude. I don’t need this school to live my life; who the hell is going to hire me to lead people into battle anyway? The Martins? Your mom?”</p><p>Scott slumps his shoulders. “They should, but yeah. Stupid crests.”</p><p>Stupid crests indeed. “This is what I’m trying to say, though: no one is going to hire me, and Finstock doesn’t know shit about white magic. I’m wasting potential in the Golden Deer and everyone knows it. Even Lydia Martin asked me what I was still doing in her house during Deaton’s Advanced White Magic Theory lecture last week.”</p><p>He doesn’t want to think about how much that hurt.</p><p>Scott shrugs, and his face still looks pained.</p><p>“I don’t want you to leave just because I’m not going to be there anymore. What will you do if you drop out?” he asks Stiles.</p><p>“Go work for dad? Or your mom? But dude, I can still be here for you even if I’m not part of your house. I’ll help you train and show up for your battles and stuff.” He’s not entirely confident that Finstock or Deaton won’t kick him out if he’s skipping house activities to help Scott, but Stiles doesn’t really care. If they expel him, that’s their problem.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Scott says, looking a little guilty. “Have you met Prince Derek? He doesn’t seem like he’d be very happy with you showing up without his consent.”</p><p>Stiles laughs. “Fuck him, then. I don’t care, I’m sticking with you, man. No one is going to keep us apart,” Stiles says. He grabs Scott in a fierce hug and starts sloppily kissing his cheek, making Scott laugh and yell.</p><p>The afternoon is warm and sunny still, and Stiles doesn’t want Scott to stay inside and brood when he could be out talking to the girl he likes. He pushes Scott up off the bed and herds him down to the stables where he knows Addison or whatever her name is likes to hang out.</p><p>There’s a pang in Stiles’ chest when he sees how good Scott and his girl are together out here, laughing and playing with the horses and pegasi. For all that he’d said to Scott, he does want this. He wants to hang out with Scott and - Allison! That was it - and laugh and play.</p><p>If he has to strongarm his way into the Black Eagles, then, well, he’s got no other choice has he?</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Derek C</strong>
</p><p>Stiles stands awkwardly in front of Deaton’s lectern after his Advanced Practicum of Transportation White Magic - a class he had to beg the enrollment prereqs be ignored so he could take it - and refuses to believe his ears.</p><p>“What do you mean you don’t handle recruiting to your house? Isn’t that like, part of your job?” he asks, incredulous at the thought. Lydia Martin had complained for <em>weeks</em> when Finstock wouldn’t recruit Erica Reyes for her and the Black Eagles got the best wyvern rider in the school.</p><p>“It is, Stiles,” Deaton says more patiently than strictly necessary, thank you, Stiles isn’t an idiot. “But I am deferring to His Highness’s judgment here.”</p><p>Stiles grips the lectern and leans forward, speaking in a low whisper. “But His <em>Highness</em> doesn’t know how to construct a class of learning! He’s recruiting for a personal army, not gathering like minded individuals who would train well together!” Stiles doesn’t really know or care what the Prince is doing, doesn’t even know if his words are true; he just wants Professor Deaton to do his damn <em>job</em>.</p><p>“Stiles,” Deaton says gently, raising his hands in a calming gesture. “You are one of the finest tactical and magical minds of your generation. I would not hesitate one moment to give you personal lessons, regardless of what house you are in. This is for De - for His Highness’s sake. Please don’t -“</p><p>Before Stiles can acknowledge the fairness of Deaton’s words, someone behind them interrupts rather rudely, with, “what is for my sake?” It’s a nice voice, all things considered, but Stiles is flustered and frustrated.</p><p>As he turns to the interloper - what a great word, interloper, delightful mouthfeel - he says, “it’s kind of none of your business, dude -“ before he realizes who he’s talking to.</p><p>Oh no.</p><p>It’s Prince Derek. Probably. Stiles has never met the other heads of house - Prince Derek and Princess Katherine, coincidentally future heads of state and bitter exes if rumors are to be believed - but this guy’s got the stupid cape that Finstock makes Lydia Martin wear, in red instead of yellow, and an unbelievably haughty expression on his face. Almost as haughty as Lydia’s usual expression.</p><p>Now it’s haughty mixed with outraged. “Don’t call me dude,” His Highness says, which honestly is pretty rich considering he didn’t identify himself before jumping into a conversation that wasn’t his business.</p><p>Stiles has to force himself to keep his eyes from wandering all over the Prince’s body, because the guy is <em>hot</em>. Even with his stupid cape and his stupid little neck scarf cravat thing that must be in fashion in the empire considering how all of the Black Eagles kids wear them.</p><p>“Don’t butt into people’s conversations and I won’t call you dude, dude,” Stiles is saying before his brain to mouth filter can activate and stop him from thoroughly humiliating himself. He turns back to Deaton to see the man covering his face and shaking either in tears or repressed laughter.</p><p>That must not be satisfactory to His Highness because he’s got a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and is man-handling him around to face him again. “You’re talking about recruitment in my house’s lecture hall,” the Prince says, smile almost predatory it’s so sharp. Oh fuck, he’s probably pissed. “Why? You want to join the Black Eagles, kid?”</p><p>Stiles has to stop himself from making a face. He probably winces at the effort. He certainly <em>did</em> want to join, but if he has to deal with a douche of this caliber then maybe he’ll stay with the Golden Deer.</p><p>Then he remembers Jackson Whittemore, who makes the Prince seem like a kitten in comparison, and decides against giving up.</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” Stiles says, trying to keep his voice from squeaking. He’d honestly been hoping to bully Deaton into letting him join without ever having to talk to Prince Derek, but he’ll do whatever he has to.</p><p>The Prince smiles at him. It’s deceptively beautiful - deceptive because His Highness’ personality is nowhere near as pretty - and steps closer, making Stiles back up and rattle the lectern when he bumps into it. “Convince me, then,” the Prince says. Stiles is pretty sure he won’t be able to convince this guy in a million years, but he’s never been able to back down from a challenge, even an impossible one.</p><p>“Okay. Okay. Well, your house professor called me the finest tactical and magical minds of my generation, so. And!” he says in a rush, “and the head of my previous house, Lydia Martin, is willing to recommend me.” He thinks she is, based on the way she asked why he was still in her house. Unless he massively misread her tone, which he’s realizing is entirely possible. Maybe he can bribe her into -</p><p>“I don’t care what they say,” the Prince says through his smile, which is starting to get a little menacing. You’re not really supposed to hold them for that long. “Tell me why you want to join.”</p><p>“Uh,” Stiles flounders, trying to buy his brain some time to figure out why it is he wants to join the Black Eagles. “My best friend. Um, Scott. Scott McCall. He was recruited recently, and I want to make sure he’s safe.”</p><p>The Prince nods. His smile drops - thank the Goddess - and he steps back. “Scott McCall will be fine. You don’t need to join to -“</p><p>“You’ve got a sister, right?” Stiles interrupts, hoping to everything that he’s remembering right and His Highness doesn’t eviscerate him for the presumption. Or for interrupting. “Me and Scott are - we’re like that. I don’t care if you say he’s going to be okay, I need to make sure.”</p><p>Prince Derek shrugs. “Be that as it may -“</p><p>Stiles takes a chance, and interrupts him again. “I only joined this school because he wanted to come. I’m going to keep him safe, whatever it takes. Even if you refuse to let me join your house, I’ll show up to all of your battles. It’s in your best interest to make sure I’m getting trained, or I’ll just be a liability on the field.” When his throat and dignity are intact still, he continues quickly, “plus, I’m friends with Allison, sort of, and I get the feeling like she doesn’t have a lot of them. No offense to her, she’s great, but, I don’t know, I’d kind of like to… make sure her social circle isn’t just Scott McCall.”</p><p>Prince Derek’s eyes are wide and he’s silent for a long, long moment. Stiles isn’t sure which thing he said that caught His Highness so off guard, and he hopes it wasn’t a bad thing.</p><p>He’s still bracing for a blow when His Highness nods his head slightly and turns away from Stoles. “Leave. I’ll speak with Lydia and Professor Deaton. Expect me next week; I’ll let you know then.” When Stiles keeps staring instead of leaving immediately, His Highness says more forcefully, “Good day.”</p><p>“You, uh,” Stiles begins, before steeling himself. “You didn’t ask my name. It’s Stiles, by the way, but. Not exactly inspiring confidence over here that you’ll take this seriously.”</p><p>“Get out, Stiles,” Prince Derek responds, but he doesn’t sound angry so much as exasperated.</p><p>Stiles grabs his bag from Scott and makes significant eye contact with him, before waving goodbye to Allison. He really hopes she wasn’t listening, but she only smiles and waves when she sees him. Small blessings.</p><p>He spends an unbearable evening in his dorm, trying not to overanalyze the conversation, and gets barely a chapter into his second read through of his Advanced White Magic Theory textbook before giving up and slipping into Scott’s room.</p><p>Scott just rolls over and lets Stiles curl up next to him. Stiles falls asleep easily to the sound of Scott’s breathing.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Allison C</strong>
</p><p>Stiles is leaning against a wall in the Pegasus barn watching Scott and Allison laugh at each other and hand feed the Pegasi. Stiles is surprised at Deaton’s willingness to let Scott and Allison work in here, mostly because they don’t seem to realize that it’s training at all.</p><p>Allison hip checks Scott into a pile of hay and starts brushing a Pegasus’ wings carefully and gently with her brush, and Stiles realizes what Deaton sees in them.</p><p>Scott lays breathlessly in the pile of hay for a few moments, presumably dazed from the girl that he likes absolutely bodying his ass like that, and Stiles takes his opportunity.</p><p>“So,” he starts, sliding forward to be closer to Allison. “How do you envision yourself fighting in the future?”</p><p>Allison stops suddenly and turns to look at Stiles, brush held mid stroke. It’s probably the first time Stiles has spoken to her directly like this, when it wasn’t them and Scott talking about something. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“Well,” Stiles starts, leaning back casually in the hopes that it will make her more comfortable, “you’re amazing with a bow, but His Highness seems to have you working a lot with the lance. What do <em>you</em> want to practice? How do <em>you</em> want to fight?”</p><p>Allison steps back from the Pegasus and looks down at her feet for a long moment. “I - I’m not sure? No one’s ever really asked me before.”</p><p>Stiles nods. He’s pretty sure she’s the daughter of the Archbishop, and that dude seems to have control issues out the ass. “Maybe the better way to ask is: what do you enjoy practicing?”</p><p>“Well, Derek has me -“ she starts and Stiles has to stop himself from rolling his eyes, “riding horses too, and I’ve been enjoying that.”</p><p>“What about flying?” Stiles asks casually, trying not to be too obvious if Deaton hasn’t had this talk with her. “Do you enjoy that?”</p><p>She looks over to Scott for a moment. “I… I haven’t tried…”</p><p>“That’s okay,” Stiles says quickly, hoping she won’t break down into tears. She doesn’t seem like the type but he’s never been good with girls. Or boys. Or anyone besides Scott, really.</p><p>“I think… I think I’d like flying,” she says, looking between Scott and the Pegasus. Scott is looking at Stiles, completely bewildered. “But I’m pretty sure I’m not any good at it.”</p><p>Stiles has to keep himself from going off on her. “I mean,” he says, trying for faux casual and missing the mark by a mile, “my dad always says there’s no such thing as good at something or bad at something, just whether or not you can make yourself endure the training.”</p><p>Allison gives him a confused half-smile.</p><p>“Like, you’re great at bows. To get great at bows, you must have practiced a bunch. There must have been a time when you <em>weren’t</em> so good at bows. To get to the point where you were good at bows, you had to train, right? So, you got good because you were able to endure the training.”</p><p>She nods.</p><p>“It’s the same with anything. I’m actually pretty good with a lance, according to my dad, but I can’t stand hurting people like that, so he could never get me to sit through the training. Same concept.”</p><p>“I… I guess that makes sense,” she says, getting back to brushing the Pegasus wings.</p><p>Stiles waits a few minutes, gesturing to Scott to leave her alone for a bit. Scott makes a scrunched up face that communicates how much he doesn’t like doing it, but he does it because he’s a good friend.</p><p>“Maybe you should have Scott take you out on his Pegasus sometime during stable duty,” Stiles says. “See if you enjoy it or not. Even if you’re bad at it, Scott’s been training for a while. I bet he’d be able to show you the ropes.”</p><p>Allison looks at Scott by way of answer, face fragile with hope. “Would you…?” she asks.</p><p>“Of course,” Scott says. “Any time. Do you want to try right now?”</p><p>Allison looks like she’s about to cry.</p><p>Stiles slinks out of the barn, a warm feeling building in his chest. He’ll let them try out flying on their own and ask Scott how it went later.</p><p>He has a feeling he already knows how it will go.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Derek C+</strong>
</p><p>Stiles isn’t <em>not</em> anxious to hear if he’s going to be allowed in the Black Eagles, but he also might have forgotten that His Highness had said to wait for a reply next week. He may have forgotten about it entirely in the face of his midterm Advanced White Magic Theory paper on light magic, comparing the Torch and Aura spells and their -</p><p>So basically, he’s not expecting a knock on his door after sundown. He’s not sure anyone has ever knocked on his door; Scott knows to come in without asking, and Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever had any visitors that didn’t come with Scott.</p><p>He’s really not expecting the actual Prince himself when he opens the door, so much so that he stares at him for a length of time that is certainly pushing the bounds of polity. “I thought you’d send a note or something.”</p><p>Prince Derek rolls his eyes and pushes his way past Stiles and into his room. Which. Stiles should probably be more embarrassed about how messy it is, but he hasn't had the time to clean while he’s been writing about light magic. Not that he was great at cleaning before either, but -</p><p>“I don’t think you’re a good fit for the Black Eagles,” the Prince says, his voice lacking any emotion. He’s not even looking at Stiles, instead picking through Stiles’ room like he’s dissecting a particularly grotesque specimen.</p><p>“And you came here to tell me this out of the goodness of your heart? Or did Deaton make you tell me in person because it would be rude to dump me by messenger?” Stiles asks. He folds his arms over his chest when His Highness turns to look at him.</p><p>How the damn hell does the dude get away with looking so good at this hour? Stiles shouldn’t be thinking about the scant glimpse of the Prince’s ass he got to see, but, whew. Whew. <em>Whew.</em></p><p>His lips twitch in response to Stiles’ question. “He told me to do my research on you, and I did. Failing all of your skill qualifications except in white magic, and you can’t even heal. Terrible aptitudes; you’ve got the lowest endurance of anyone in the school. You’ve been here for half a year, and you only know two spells?”</p><p>Stiles waits to see if there’s any more before responding. “You’re wondering why Deaton recommended me. You’re probably also wondering why Lydia Martin gave me such glowing praise.” The Prince nods. “You’re not a very good commander, are you?” Stiles asks in lieu of explanation.</p><p>The Prince looks like Stiles slapped him. “What?” he asks, stepping forward a little menacingly.</p><p>“You’re not a very good commander. I’m sure you’re great at telling people what to do, but you seem to lack in just about every other area.” Stiles digs through his desk, littered in notes on his white magic research, until he finds the personnel docket he’d written up for the Black Eagles last week. “Based on your weapons qualifications, and your aptitudes, I’d bet you’ve never had much leadership training, or the training you did have didn’t help you much.”</p><p>Prince Derek’s face takes on a pinched look. “It was - my sister was supposed to be the… never mind, what does it matter?”</p><p>“I see,” Stiles says, biting his finger and nodding. “Princess Laura got the leadership training before she died and you thought you didn’t have anything to learn from it.” Stiles checks his notes on the current Black Eagles roster. “You seem to be laboring under the impression that it’s individual soldiers of great strength that win battles.”</p><p>Stiles is pretty sure Prince Derek must be furious with him, but he’s in the kind of analytical headspace right now where he needs to follow these thoughts through to their conclusion or he’ll never be able to find them again.</p><p>“Deaton said he allowed you to handle recruitment as a personal favor, but probably he’s trying to get you to learn leadership on your own, since you seem to be failing his classes on the subject.” Stiles’ eyes widen in understanding. “This is a test. What you do here is a test. Did he tell you so outright, or did he just give you his shitty ‘I know more than you’ look when you tried to ask him about it?” Stiles hates that look.</p><p>His Highness is just looking at Stiles now, which is a little frightening, in that Stiles can’t read him and doesn’t know what it means.</p><p>“Deaton wants you to find out what it is about me that would make him and Lydia Martin, two of the smartest people at the Officers Academy, give their recommendations, and you probably think he’s trying to convince you to recruit me.” Unless the Prince is way more canny than Stiles’ estimations had placed him. “He’s not, for the record. Deaton doesn’t care if you recruit me or not.”</p><p>His Highness narrows his eyes. They’re very pretty eyes. Fuck, Stiles needs to stop drooling all over the guy. “So what is so special about you?” he asks.</p><p>“Uh, no. I’m not going to help you with this unless you make it worth my while,” Stiles replies, waggling his eyebrows. “Er, wait, no, sorry, that came out weirdly sexual, although -“</p><p>“Obviously it’s not for your sparkling wit,” the Prince says under his breath.</p><p>Wow. Fuck that guy. “Wow. Fuck you too, dude.”</p><p>He laughs. And wow, his laugh is gorgeous. “Why aren’t you afraid of me? Is that why you’re special?”</p><p>“Why on earth would I be afraid of you? You don’t have anything I want; you’re not going to hurt Scott while he’s in your house; you’re not going to hurt <em>me</em> while I’m at this school; and you’re not going to invade the Alliance and risk the Martins’ wrath to hurt my dad,” Stiles lists. “Seriously, no offense, but the most you could hold over my head is your scorn, and it’s not that frightening when I already know that you don’t like me.”</p><p>The Prince shrugs. “So it’s not that?”</p><p>“It’s not that.” Stiles almost feels bad for the guy. He seems like he really wants to know the answer, even if it is just to prove something to Deaton. “Here, let’s try some Socratic method: who do you think is the strongest member of your house, individually?”</p><p>The Prince thinks for a moment. “In terms of raw power and combat experience, me. In terms of mobility and speed, Scott McCall, probably. In terms of ranged -“</p><p>“Seriously? That’s how you think about strength?” Stiles puts his head in his hands. Deaton really has his work set out for him. “No, dude, the strongest member of your house is Princess Cora, and then Allison.”</p><p>“What? But she’s -“ Prince Derek starts to say.</p><p>“Physically weaker than you? What is your estimation of strength missing then?”</p><p>Prince Derek screws up his face in thought for a solid minute. It’s excruciatingly long, and Stiles has to sit there the whole time and not give away the answer. His dad always said that Stiles would be a great teacher if he had any patience, and he’s really starting to get what he meant. “I don’t - I don’t know. If I let you join the Black Eagles, will you tell me?” He sounds painfully earnest, like he’s not sure if Stiles will say yes.</p><p>“Obviously,” Stiles says, holding out his hand to shake. Prince Derek looks at it for a long moment before taking off his pristine white glove and shaking. Stiles grins at him. “The reason why Princess Cora is the strongest member of your house,” he explains, “is because she has the greatest capacity for growth. Give her five years, and she’ll be one of the best fighters on the continent. Not to mention her talent for magic, but that’s part of the growth thing.”</p><p>His Highness looks at Stiles like he has grown a third head. “What do you mean, her talent for magic?”</p><p>“Her secret evening rendezvous with Lydia Martin are either a scandalous affair that Jackson Whittemore will be furious to find out about, or else she’s learning magic on the side. Honestly, knowing Lady Lydia, it could really go either way, but I happen to walk past her room on the way to the library most nights, and if they’re having illicit sexual encounters they’re being very quiet about it.”</p><p>Prince Derek looks stricken.</p><p>“Are you good? I thought this was common knowledge. I really hope I didn’t give you some kind of aneurysm.”</p><p>“Why - but she, she hasn’t said anything to me,” His Highness asks, and for a moment Stiles can see the schoolboy through the imperious facade. He looks lost and confused.</p><p>“Yeah, I mean, you super hate magic, so I can’t blame her. Like, I knew it was a long shot trying to get into your house, but I wasn’t your sister. Can you imagine losing most of your family and then pissing off one of the two people you have left? Yikes.”</p><p>Prince Derek sits down heavily on Stiles’ bed, crumpling a few papers Stiles had been saving. Stiles lets out a soft cry of dismay, but His Highness isn’t paying him any attention. “I didn’t know…”</p><p>“I mean, yeah,” Stiles says, frowning at his now ruined papers. “No sweat, though, just tell her that you don’t mind her learning magic. Hell, she’ll probably be a great addition to your roster as a black magic user, since your biggest weakness seems to be heavily armored enemies. And bows, I guess. Not that she’s much help against them.”</p><p>Prince Derek looks up at Stiles from the bed, his face less shocked now. He has an almost canny look about him. “Is this why Deaton and Lydia recommended you?”</p><p>“Nah,” Stiles says, grinning widely. “Well, kind of, but that’s only part of it.” His grin turns mischievous. “Why do you think they recommended me? Since it’s obviously not my sparkling wit.”</p><p>Prince Derek shakes his head. “Not really sure what use there is in a white magic user who can’t heal.” Stiles doesn’t begrudge him for it though; he’s too used to hearing that sentiment, and His Highness seems more confused than malicious. And it’s pretty easy to forgive the hottest guy Stiles has ever met, even if he doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with him.</p><p>“If you wanted a healer, you would have recruited one already. Besides your weird paranoia about magic, your strategies don’t hinge on one anyway; your rosters are more focused on defeating key strategic enemies as quickly as possible and having wounded allies flee or use field medicine. That’s probably why there are so many mounted soldiers in your house, plus why you’d recruit Scott over a proper healer.”</p><p>“So then why…” Prince Derek asks, gesturing at Stiles.</p><p>Stiles just smiles wider and tosses his Practicum of Transportation White Magic text at His Highness. “The answer is somewhere in here. Good luck finding it.”</p><p>The Prince’s eyes widen as he reads over the back of the textbook.</p><p>“Anyway, I’ve got to get back to this essay, so. I guess I’ll see you on Monday at house lessons,” Stiles says, slumping down at his desk and forcing himself not to think about pressing Prince Derek down on the bed and kissing him silly.</p><p>The Prince must leave at some point in the night before Stiles goes to bed, but he’s so wrapped up in his essay that he doesn’t notice when it happens, just that his textbook is still there and Prince Derek is not. Stiles decides to wait until the morning before letting Scott know; he needs to spend some quality time with his right hand so he doesn’t embarrass himself by being too horny around the future Hale Emperor.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Boyd C</strong>
</p><p>When Stiles slinks into house lessons on Monday morning, exhausted from staying up far too late working on the same essay, there’s only one open seat. His Surliness is up at the front looking regal and diligent, probably, next to a brunette who’s presumably his sister. Scott is sitting next to Allison. And a pair of blondes is sitting in the next desk ahead.</p><p>So, there’s one seat open, but Stiles isn’t picky. It sure as shit beats sitting next to Prince Derek.</p><p>It’s next to the unhappiest looking guy Stiles has ever seen. And he was in a house with Jackson Whittemore, who leaves unhappy people treading in his wake.</p><p>The dude doesn’t even look up when Stiles sits down next to him. Or when Stiles says good morning under his breath. Or when Stiles knocks their elbows together</p><p>He does look up when Stiles says, “are you in a contest with His Highness to see who can be the most disaffected person in this house? Because you’re clearly winning, my guy.”</p><p>He glares at Stiles, but, again, after the looks Jackson Whittemore has given him, Stiles is all but immune to eye-based attacks. He smiles broadly and holds out a hand to shake.</p><p>The other guy just looks at it before turning back to the textbook in front of him.</p><p>“No, no, it’s chill, it must be the height of cool in the Empire to ignore a friendly handshake from your comrades in arms. From your bosom companions,” Stiles says. “Your stalwart friends.</p><p>“Not from the Empire,” the guy just grunts in response.</p><p>“Fuck yeah, dude! Me too! Where are you from?”</p><p>He just raises an eyebrow at Stiles.</p><p>“I happen to be from McCall lands. You see that guy over there?” Stiles asks, pointing to Scott. “His mom is the Countess. My dad works for her, kinda, but he used to lead an army in the Empire. The Alliance is great, but it’s way drier than here. What’s your place like?” Stiles gives his best happy smile.</p><p>No reaction.</p><p>“Come on, man! Work with me here, I’m just trying to make friends.”</p><p>He just snorts. “No one wants to be friends with me,” the kid says, turning back to his book.</p><p>“I don’t want to burst your little sad-sack bubble here, dickhead, but I’m <em>right here and trying to be your friend. Just because everyone else in this shithole is avoiding you doesn’t mean you don’t get to have friends.”</em></p><p>“I <em>did</em> have friends, before I came to this ‘shithole’,” the dude says. “I had friends and a family and people who cared. Now I’m here, all alone, and no one cares. So don’t try to make me feel better, you’re not very good at it.”</p><p>Stiles lets his mouth drop. Deaton is walking into the hall before Stiles can say anything in response, but he can’t even <em>imagine</em> having to leave Scott at home. Having to uproot yourself from your life and everything that matters, and come to an unfriendly and unfamiliar place. Fuck.</p><p>He corners the guy after class, when he’d normally be asking Deaton weird questions about white magic. “You’re Boyd, right? The guy from the north? Veran or Vernon or something?” It’s a formality, since there were pictures on the dossiers of the Black Eagles students Stiles had stolen from the admissions office. Having a famous yet retired dad comes in handy when you need to distract people with stories.</p><p>“So what if I am,” Boyd asks, looking uncomfortably away.</p><p>“I’m Mieczyslaw. Or Stiles, since no one can pronounce my real name.” Stiles follows Boyd as he stands up from his seat and moves to leave the room. “Why aren’t you friends with anyone else in the house? I’ve seen your combat records, you’re amazing.”</p><p>Boyd shrugs and keeps walking.</p><p>“Is it because you’re not from the Empire? Because Scott and Allison aren’t. Fuck, I’m pretty sure Allison’s from Argent, and aren’t they in a Cold War with the Empire right now?”</p><p>Boyd doesn’t respond.</p><p>“Or maybe you’re an antisocial guy, but I’ve seen your leadership quals, and you did pretty good. Better than Prince Dickface, anyway.”</p><p>Boyd snorts, and then looks away like he’s embarrassed to be laughing at his head of house.</p><p>“Ha <em>ha!</em> I knew the walls couldn’t stand up forever in the face of my impeccable and mature humor.”</p><p>Boyd sits down for lunch and Stiles sits across from him. “It’s not,” Boyd begins, looking at his tray of food as if it’s the person he’s talking to. “It’s not that I don’t want to.”</p><p>“Hm. You want to make friends, but you feel like you can’t. Is it some kind of -“</p><p>Boyd slams his hand onto the table. He looks just as surprised as Stiles at the outburst. “You can’t - you can’t <em>fix</em> me. You can’t ask questions until you figure out what’s wrong. It’s - the thing that’s wrong, you can’t fix it.”</p><p>“If I could, would you want me to?” Stiles asks. “Or do you like wallowing like this? Is it easier to pity yourself than to open up to the people around you? Or are you afraid that if you make friends you’ll be betraying the people you left behind back home?” Stiles doesn’t want to think about how many of these anxieties are really his own. When he sees them mirrored in someone else, he can’t help how acidic his voice sounds. Stiles has never had much mercy for himself.</p><p>Boyd looks up at Stiles sharply, his eyes shining, and then past Stiles’ shoulder to someone behind him. Stiles doesn’t have the time to turn around before someone is grabbing the nape of his neck and hauling him out of his chair.</p><p>Prince Derek’s voice is hotly furious in his ear. “Leave. Don’t come back until you’ve run five laps around the monastery.”</p><p>Stiles wants to protest, but His Angriness is pushing him out of the mess hall before he can say much. He sees the Prince slide easily into the spot he was sitting at, though, so at least Boyd won’t be all alone.</p><p>When Stiles manages to finish his laps, interminable though they were, there’s a tray of food in his spot waiting for him; Boyd and Prince Douchebag are gone.</p><p>When Stiles goes to house lessons the next day, the seat next to Boyd isn’t empty anymore. Prince Derek glares up at Stiles from it instead.</p><p>Stiles grins and gives him a thumbs up. At least <em>someone</em> is trying to befriend Boyd, and all the better that it’s not Stiles, who has certainly already fucked it up.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Isaac C</strong>
</p><p>The quiet half of the blond duo - Isaac, Stiles has learned; he’s not going for a repeat of messing up Boyd’s name - keeps flinching during lance training and Stiles is determined to find out why.</p><p>Not that Stiles is actually training with lances, mind. And <em>definitely</em> not that he’s watching His Sourness gallivant around with his sleeves rolled up and his cape laying on the bench next to the training arena, little neck scarf thing flapping valiantly in the wind. Absolutely not.</p><p>No, he’s mostly just bored out of his mind while trying to take notes on everyone’s skills and training, to deliver to Deaton. The man says it’s for leadership practice, but Stiles thinks it’s one part torture via exposure to sweaty muscles and one part Deaton pushing his work off onto unsuspecting Stiles’s.</p><p>At least the torture is entertaining.</p><p>But Stiles keeps getting jarred out of pleasant fantasies about taking the rest of the Prince’s clothes off by the kid’s flinching. Frankly, it’s harshing his vibe.</p><p>Stiles has learned his lesson from the Boyd thing, though. He doesn’t want Prince Angrybrows to get on his case again for a bit of harmless curiosity - though he’s noticed Boyd hanging around the blondies during lunch and he even saw the guy crack a smile the other day, so maybe his curiosity was for the best, in the end.</p><p>But he doesn’t want any muscled Princes to get all over his ass for trying to help his housemates when the guy won’t lift a delicately gloved pinky to help them.</p><p>So he works in secret. Which really means: he asks the old ladies in admissions about Isaac’s family in exchange for more stories of his old man. They must be fans from when dad was enrolled in the Officers Academy.</p><p>He learns a fair bit about the Lahey family: they’re a rather prominent noble family in the Empire, or at least they were before most of the Imperial family died. Prince Derek’s older sister was apparently betrothed to Isaac’s older brother.</p><p>And then the fire happened. It turns out the Imperial family weren’t the only ones in the west wing of the winter palace that night. With his beloved eldest son dead, Duke Lahey grew a little unhinged in his love of drink.</p><p>It doesn’t take the son of a sheriff to know where that leads.</p><p>Still, it’s not quite enough to go on. Not if he wants to keep Isaac safe.</p><p>If he were back home, he’d bring the case to his dad and they would puzzle it out together. But Beacon Hills Monastery isn’t in McCall lands, where the laws are strict about hurting children, and Isaac’s father is in the Empire, in the court of the regent.</p><p>Stiles brings it up casually to Prince Derek, after their private lessons on leadership with Deaton.</p><p>“So,” Stiles asks, leaning awkwardly against his desk. “What are the laws in your country like for child abusers?”</p><p>His Highness looks up at Stiles sharply. “What? Why?”</p><p>Stiles tries to keep everything light and coy, even if he’s feeling the sharp simmer of rage under his skin. “Let’s say I had a friend whose parent was hurting them. For the sake of argument, what would my friend do to protect themself?”</p><p>Prince Derek quirks an eyebrow. “For the sake of argument?” he asks.</p><p>“Indeed,” Stiles confirms with a sharp grin.</p><p>“It depends on if your friend is a commoner or a noble. Commoners go to the lord in charge of their home, or the lord’s retainer. Nobles go to their parent’s liege, so, my uncle. Or his retainer.”</p><p>“Seriously? If you’re a noble, you have to petition the Emperor if your dad is hitting you? How is that a sustainable system.”</p><p>“... for argument’s sake?” Prince Derek asks again, lip curving up at the corner. Stiles kind of wants to hit him for his levity in the situation. He must see Stiles’ seriousness, because his amused face drops. “They don’t. Parental abuse is rampant in the nobility. Most children can’t do anything about it until they’re old enough to have status, at which point the offender is usually dead or powerful enough to be untouchable. Why?”</p><p>Stiles chews on his lip in thought. “And if you suspect someone else is being abused? How would you report it to the liege?”</p><p>“Stiles. What is this about?” Prince Derek asks, voice full of concern.</p><p>“Answer the question and I might tell you,” Stiles jokes, but he’s sure his voice is more brittle than light.</p><p>“... there would be an investigation based on the evidence provided. It’s up to the Emperor - or the Prince-Regent, in this case - to make judgment. Most of the time they hand it off to a competent retainer.”</p><p>“And who does Your Highness think the Prince-Regent would trust to be a competent retainer?” Stiles asks, afraid of the answer he’s going to hear.</p><p>“Duke Reyes or Duke Lahey, probably.”</p><p>Stiles swears under his breath. He turns away and begins packing up his bags, counting his breaths to keep calm. Prince Derek grabs his wrist before he can leave, though.</p><p>“Stiles? What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice almost gentle. Stiles can’t bring himself to make eye contact.</p><p>“It’s probably nothing. Just an instinct, not enough to call an investigation over,” Stiles tries to laugh, but it’s sharper and higher than he’d like to admit.</p><p>Prince Derek presses a hand under Stiles’ chin until he’s forced to meet his eyes. It’s intimate in a way that makes Stiles extremely uncomfortable, especially when his face heats. “Explain,” he commands.</p><p>Stiles doesn’t even stop himself from rolling his eyes. “I’m not a child and I’m not your subject. You can’t order me around and expect me to listen, asshole.”</p><p>Prince Derek doesn’t release his wrist though. “Explain, please?” he asks, not changing the tone so it’s a request in name only. Stiles will have to take it, though.</p><p>“When you hang around a sheriff in a smaller county long enough, you start to get an instinct, you know? For when kids are being hurt. Sometimes adults too.”</p><p>Prince Derek waits for him to continue, face open and a scant foot from Stiles’ own.</p><p>“But when your dad is the sheriff in a small county, he has the authority to do something about it. It’s just hard to watch it happen here and not be able to do anything.” Stiles shrugs. He’s angry, but it’s the kind of resigned anger that says, ‘if I see Duke Lahey I won’t stop to think before I deck him,’ rather than the direct anger he felt earlier that said ‘I will go find Duke Lahey and I will remove his balls from his body with a pair of tweezers.’</p><p>Not that Stiles is particularly threatening in either scenario, really, but his anger doesn’t care.</p><p>Prince Derek’s eyebrows furrow. He gives Stiles a long, appraising look before he drops his hand and steps out of Stiles’ space. Stiles lets out his breath, only just realizing that he’d been holding it, feeling suddenly bereft for the Prince’s absence.</p><p>His Growliness nods. “If you find anything more concrete, let me know. And if you have any suggestions to improve how the Empire handles child abuse, I’m happy to listen,” he says, sounding earnest.</p><p>Stiles knows that tone in the Prince’s voice is going to lead to him doing hours of research in the library, but he feels certain that at least his effort won’t be wasted.</p><p>Two days later, after several sleepless nights spent compiling a report suggesting multiple possible approaches to ameliorating child abuse in the nobility, Stiles is leaning wearily against the fence around the training arena where Prince Derek is directing Scott, Isaac, and Boyd in lance training. The fence is honestly the only thing keeping Stiles from sliding over and falling onto his ass; not even his dignity objects to the idea, given how much he’s embarrassed himself in front of the entire house at this point.</p><p>Stiles needs to focus, though. He needs to watch Isaac’s training. He sees a little bit better why Deaton suggested this; it’s not just an abstract thing now. Stiles is desperate to help Isaac, to guide him and watch him grow.</p><p>He takes notes on his little clipboard Deaton gave him in what at first felt like an insult, but now is one of Stiles’ most treasured possessions. After training is done, Stiles pulls Isaac aside casually.</p><p>“Hey, dude! I know you’ve been working with His Highness really hard on keeping your stance clean when you block, and when I was watching today, your stance shifted only twice out of twenty four blocks.” Stiles knows hard numbers can be comforting when your brain wants to tell you every compliment is pity. They are for him, at least. “That’s amazing. Even Prince Derek’s stance isn’t that clean when he blocks in the field.”</p><p>Isaac’s face looks frightened for a few moments, like he’s afraid for the ‘but,’ that must be coming.</p><p>“Anyway, just wanted to congratulate you. I know His Highness isn’t really super forthcoming with compliments, but I was talking to him yesterday about your progress and he smiled! Like he actually smiled, with his face. I think that might be like the second time I’ve ever seen it.”</p><p>He really had spoken with Prince Derek about Isaac’s progress yesterday, and Prince Derek <em>had</em> smiled. ‘Never lie when praising your soldiers, kid,” his dad always said to him, and Stiles took it to heart.</p><p>Isaac’s smile is tiny, barely even there, but he thanks Stiles before running off.</p><p>Later, during their daily training meetings with Deaton, Prince Derek mentions Isaac hugging him out of nowhere. Derek sounds concerned, but Stiles feels something warm and fragile unfurl in his chest, unfold like a flower in bloom.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Erica C</strong>
</p><p>Erica is an enigma to Stiles. She’s gorgeous, strong, and funny. She could have anyone she wants in Beacon Hills Monastery, but he’s been watching her and all she does is moon at Boyd. Stiles is pretty sure Boyd is just as into her as she is into him, so it doesn’t make any sense that she wouldn’t go for it.</p><p>He manages to corner blondie number two in the library, which is honestly the last place he thought he’d find her. She’s sitting at a table with a book in front of her, chewing a fingernail and looking almost shy. It’s a strange look on the top wyvern rider at the Officers Academy.</p><p>Stiles drops his textbooks on the table with a loud thump that startles her from the book she’s reading. He grins and sits across from her. “Hey. Erica, right?”</p><p>She rolls her eyes and looks back down at her book.</p><p>Playing hard to get, huh? Stiles can respect it.</p><p>“So,” he starts. “Boyd’s pretty cute, huh? Have you considered -“</p><p>Erica slams the book shut and stands up. She kind of towers over Stiles, and it’s just as hot as it is intimidating. He swallows thickly.</p><p>“We’re not projects for you to fix, Stiles,” she says.</p><p>“Who said I wanted you to be?” Stiles asks, heart racing. Yeah, she’s kind of right, though.</p><p>“You don’t get to come in here and try to make everyone’s lives better and pretend like you saved us.”</p><p>“I don’t?” Stiles asks, confused. “You don’t want your life to be better?”</p><p>“It’s not a question of desire,” Erica says bitterly. “What I want doesn’t matter.”</p><p>Stiles fiddles with his books for a moment, unsure what to say. “It doesn’t?” he asks, finally.</p><p>Erica sighs and sits back down. “No.”</p><p>They sit there for a long moment.</p><p>“Is this a nobility thing? It sounds like a nobility thing,” Stiles says, still fiddling idly with his books, unable to meet Erica’s gaze.</p><p>“What do you think?” she asks coldly. “Of course it’s a nobility thing.”</p><p>“So, what, you can’t date Boyd because he’s not nobility? He has a crest, doesn’t he? It’s not like that would be an issue.”</p><p>“I… my family wants me to marry well. It’s why they sent me here in the first place,” Erica says reluctantly.</p><p>“What? Who the hell do they expect you to marry, Isaac?”</p><p>She shrugs. “Probably.”</p><p>Stiles shakes his head. “No offense but this aristocracy shit fucking sucks.”</p><p>Erica huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”</p><p>“I mean,” Stiles begins. “Is it so bad to try it out? Even if you don’t end up marrying him, or whatever? If you really like him, isn’t it worth trying?”</p><p>Erica’s eyes are bright for a moment before she looks away. “It’s complicated.”</p><p>“I’m all ears, dude. Literally nothing but ears. Imagine my whole body is covered in ears.”</p><p>“I used to have a crush on you, you know,” she says, ignoring all of his… Stiles-ness.</p><p>Stiles doesn’t make an indignant sound at ‘used to’, but it’s a close thing.</p><p>“I really liked you. I had fantasies that you’d take me away and cure me. I used to imagine us living together in the woods somewhere, crestless.”</p><p>“Uh,” Stiles says. “Crestless? Don’t you have -“</p><p>“It’s - it’s why everything is so complicated,” Erica says, her hair falling over her face like a curtain. “My crest, it’s - it comes with a cost. I have these attacks. The healer with our family says I probably won’t live past 25, if that.”</p><p>Stiles gapes at her. Well, fuck. “What the hell? And you can’t get rid of it?”</p><p>“Why would I? Without it, no one would want to marry me.”</p><p>“Uh, hm, I don’t know, maybe so you don’t fucking <em>die?</em>” Stiles says, voice rising. “Who cares whether someone will want to marry you or not? If you’ll die before long, why give a fuck what your family wants from you? Fuck them and fuck your crest.”</p><p>“It’s not that simple,” Erica says indignantly. “They just want what’s best for me.”</p><p>“What’s best for you is getting married off like chattel before you kick it so they can have a better standing in life? I don’t fucking think so,” Stiles says.</p><p>“It’s how it’s always been,” Erica whispers, voice wobbly. Stiles hates this version of Erica; he wants to see the bright girl, the one who smiles like a tiger.</p><p>“If you could get rid of your crest tomorrow, would you?” Stiles asks.</p><p>“I… I don’t know,” Erica says. “I… maybe. Maybe.”</p><p>“And if you did? If it was gone? What would you do?”</p><p>Erica looks up at Stiles, eyes red. “I don’t… I’ve never thought of it. I… I guess I’d like to kiss someone.”</p><p>“Is that someone a handsome, foreign cavalier?” Stiles asks, trying to mask his bitter anger with a joke and a smile.</p><p>Erica shrugs and laughs a little. “I guess, yeah. Yeah, I would.”</p><p>”I’ll try to look into it,” Stiles says and pats her hand.</p><p>If he has any power on this earth, he’s going to make this right. He decides to ask Deaton about removing crests after their next lesson.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Cora C</strong>
</p><p>Stiles wasn’t joking when he told Prince Derek that Princess Cora was the strongest student in their house, but that’s not why he’s afraid of her.</p><p>It’s not even her temper, famously short though it is.</p><p>No, Stiles is afraid of Princess Cora because she seems like the type to never let a grudge go once she forms it, and Stiles is terrified of getting on her bad side.</p><p>It’s not like Lydia or Erica, where they intimidate Stiles and he goes weak kneed and a little turned on. No, when Princess Cora slams her hand into the wall next to Stiles as he’s leaving his room, Stiles knees go weak because he’s about to piss himself in fear.</p><p>Princess Cora just grins at him. She really does have a rather feral smile, Stiles thinks as he presses himself against his closed door.</p><p>“Uh,” Stiles begins.</p><p>“Stiles. Stilinski? Any relation to General Stilinski?” Her Highness asks, her face not changing an inch.</p><p>Stiles gulps. He doesn’t like using his dad’s former status, not when he’s put that life so far behind him. Stiles remembers watching the shadows lick his dad’s face as he burned his old medals, after… after she died.</p><p>But he doesn’t want the Princess to kneecap him for lying. He nods tentatively.</p><p>Her Highness grins and nods. “He was a good man,” she says and Stiles startles. He didn’t know his dad knew the Imperial family at all.</p><p>“He <em>is</em> a good man,” Stiles says, unable to stop himself. Something rankles in him at the thought of people thinking his dad is dead.</p><p>Princess Cora furrows her brow at him for a long moment. Stiles can’t bring himself to meet her gaze, so he just looks at her little ascot thing and judges it silently. “We were told he died,” she says.</p><p>“He didn’t,” Stiles says. “It was… my mom. Claudia.”</p><p>Princess Cora closes her eyes tightly, nods, and turns away. “I… yeah.”</p><p>Stiles stares at her. He’s never seen the Princess look this vulnerable and open.</p><p>“I didn’t… I didn’t know you knew them…” Stiles says, unsure what else to say.</p><p>“Lady Claudia, she - she taught us, as children. I… when she died, in the fire…”</p><p>Stiles chokes on air. His dad didn’t - he didn’t say. He never…</p><p>“What? No, she was sick…” Stiles says, voice wavering.</p><p>“She saved me. She pulled me from the fire, and went back in to save the other kids… she never came out…”</p><p>“That’s not - that’s - my dad wouldn’t, he wouldn’t <em>lie</em> to me.”</p><p>Princess Cora looks at him sharply. “I don’t care what you think. She was a hero.”</p><p>Stiles nods distantly, feels the ache in his chest multiply and echo. How could his dad keep this from him? How could he…?</p><p>Stiles has barely any memories from before they fled to the Alliance. He knows they used to live in the Empire, but he didn’t… why had she called mom ‘Lady’ Claudia? Stiles was born to commoners. Half of his dad’s fame is that he rose so high in the ranks despite the lack of a crest or aristocratic blood.</p><p>Princess Cora stalks off, no doubt to terrify some other unsuspecting student.</p><p>Stiles doesn’t move for a long, long while.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Deaton C</strong>
</p><p>Stiles has had a hell of a month with the Black Eagles. He’s not sure if His Eyebrowness is regretting the decision to let Stiles join or not, and Stiles edges into the house classroom for his meeting with Professor Deaton with a wariness that edges on paranoia.</p><p>Deaton is waiting for him at one of the front tables. Stiles slides into the chair across from him and clasps his hands under the table to keep from tapping out a nervous rhythm.</p><p>Deaton shuffles his papers in front of him and looks up at Stiles.</p><p>“So,” Stiles begins.</p><p>“So,” Deaton repeats.</p><p>“Are we really doing this? Really? Can you just tell me how I’ve fucked up and how to fix it?” Stiles says exasperatedly.</p><p>“What makes you think you fucked up?” Deaton asks, folding his hands over his papers.</p><p>Ah, yes. Deaton’s favorite, the Socratic method. Ask enough questions and eventually Stiles will teach himself, or something. “Pretty sure I pissed off just about everyone in the house except for Scott, Allison, and Isaac, and it’s been barely a month.”</p><p>Deaton raises an eyebrow. “Stiles, what do you think makes black and white magic different?”</p><p>Stiles rolls his eyes. Classic Deaton redirect. “Academically? I’d quote Marin Morrell’s book on magical taxonomies but I haven’t finished reading it yet. I think her thesis is something about white magic needing the intent to protect, whereas black magic needs an intent to harm. Personally? I don’t know, for me white magic feels soft.”</p><p>Deaton smiles. “But there are white magic spells that hurt people. What about Nosferatu?”</p><p>Stiles frowns. “I mean, I can’t cast that so I’m not sure, but I think Morrell’s argument is that Nosferatu requires the intent to protect yourself.”</p><p>“And Aura? Seraphim?” Deaton asks, fitting his folded hands under his chin, a gleam in his eye.</p><p>Stiles sighs. “Is this going somewhere?”</p><p>“If you use your white magic to help someone commit murder, does that make it protective? If someone uses black magic to attack someone who wants to hurt them, is that not protective?”</p><p>Stiles sighs. “What does this insightful critique of Morrell’s book have to do with the way I pissed off everyone in the -“ Stiles pauses. Oh, he can see it now.</p><p>Deaton smirks.</p><p>“So, what, I had the intent to protect, but I ended up hurting people anyway?”</p><p>Deaton shrugs. “What makes you think you hurt them?”</p><p>“This is where I’m supposed to say that sometimes when people get pissed off it’s a sign of growth and healing, right?”</p><p>“Do you think the students in your house are growing?” Deaton asks, looking mildly at his papers.</p><p>Stiles squints suspiciously. “You can grow and be hurt. Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”</p><p>“You didn’t answer my question.”</p><p>Stiles sighs. “Yes. Yes, they’re growing.”</p><p>“Do you think Derek feels guilt when he hurts one of them in training?” Deaton asks.</p><p>Stiles grimaces. “I don’t think Prince Derek has ever felt guilt in his life.”</p><p>Deaton raises both eyebrows. “That is a deeply unkind thing to say, Stiles. Perhaps you know less of him than you seem to think.”</p><p>Stiles shifts guiltily. For Deaton to break the question shtick, he must be pretty serious. “Maybe.”</p><p>“Anyway, do you? Think he does?” Deaton asks, leaning forward.</p><p>“No. No, because they signed up for training when they enrolled in this school. They didn’t sign up for Stiles’ Life Improvement Seminar.”</p><p>“Really? The school <em>does</em> advertise itself as a place for students to grow as people,” Deaton points out. “It’s an Officers School, not just a fighters school.”</p><p>Stiles shrugs.</p><p>Deaton leans back in his chair, eyeing Stiles. “What do you think your role is in this house?”</p><p>“Uh. Comic relief I guess,” Stiles jokes. When Deaton doesn’t smile, Stiles swallows. “I’m probably the best with tactics. I’m the only magic user, though I’m sure Her Highness would give me a run for my money. None of the others are good with squad based combat.”</p><p>Deaton raises an eyebrow. Stiles assumes that means he missed something.</p><p>“I don’t know, what do you want me to say here?” Stiles asks, frustrated.</p><p>“You watched their mission last week. What would you say their chief weakness is?” Deaton asks.</p><p>Stiles sighs and slumps back in the chair. “They’re really mobile. Everyone but Allison and Their Highnesses are mounted.”</p><p>Deaton nods, encouraging Stiles to continue.</p><p>“Each soldier individually is quite strong, but they don’t coordinate. It’s like each one is supposed to be their own little army. Which sort of works when it’s Prince Derek, who basically is a walking army, but when Allison or Cora get cornered without support, they get overwhelmed.”</p><p>Deaton nods. “How do you fit?”</p><p>Stiles thinks for a minute. “I guess, I can cast Rescue now, so I can pull people to safety when they get cornered?”</p><p>“Does that solve the underlying issue?” Deaton asks.</p><p>“What? Are you saying I’m supposed to be helping them fight together? I don’t see how I’m supposed to do that.”</p><p>“You already are, Stiles.”</p><p>“And, what? Boyd giving me death glares and everyone ignoring me at meals is just growing pains? I’d really prefer not to become a complete pariah just so I can make them fight better together.”</p><p>“Give them time,” Deaton says, resting his hand on Stiles shoulder, and standing stiffly up from his chair. “They’ll understand.”</p><p>Stiles rubs his eyes heavily and goes out into the training arena to practice his new spell. If his social life is suffering, at least he’ll ace his white magic qual.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>Scott B</strong>

</p><p><em>Three Months Later</em>

</p><p>Stiles is grousing in Scott’s room again. He’s Warping objects in Scott’s room into his hand and then Warping them back. It’s been two months since he joined the Black Eagles, and he hasn’t seen any combat.

</p><p>Prince Douchebag keeps setting him up on the sidelines during their missions. It’s not like Stiles didn’t explain to the guy how to use him in battle. It’s not like Stiles wouldn’t be a valuable asset, if he ever got to do anything.

</p><p>Instead, Derek has him sitting on the sidelines casting Torch over and over again. ‘You need the practice,’ he’d said, smirking like a complete fucking asshole. Jesus, Stiles has no idea how he managed to develop a crush on such a jerk.

</p><p>Maybe it’s payback for trying to help the members of his house. Deaton told Stiles to be patient, but frankly Stiles isn’t sure his standing in the house is ever going to recover at this rate. At least he has Scott and Allison who don’t scowl at him.

</p><p>Speaking of Scott, he’s currently staring off into the distance and smiling dopily.

</p><p>Stiles Warps an apple from the bowl Scott saves for his Pegasus over Scott’s head so it falls on him with a thump and then hits the ground. “What’s up with you, dude? Did something good happen?”

</p><p>Scott nods. “Allison and I are… I think we might be dating.”

</p><p>“Oh shit!” Stiles says, bouncing up on Scott’s bed. “What happened?”

</p><p>Scott looks down at his lap, still grinning. “She kissed me yesterday, after I took her flying.”

</p><p>Stiles slaps Scott on the shoulder. “That’s awesome! How was it?”

</p><p>“Amazing…” Scott says, sighing happily.

</p><p>Stiles is… Stiles is a little jealous. He’ll never say anything to Scott about it, but he still feels it. “Have you talked to her about it? Like are you girlfriend boyfriend now, or just people who kiss after flying?”

</p><p>Scott’s face crumples and Stiles immediately regrets asking. “I didn’t… we haven’t talked about it yet.”

</p><p>“Hey, hey, no judgment here dude.”

</p><p>“I just… I’m mom’s only heir. I don’t want to put all of that pressure on her, that she needs to come back with me after we graduate.”

</p><p>“You’re not going to join the Imperial army? I kind of figured that was the whole point of the Black Eagles. Most people would salivate over the chance.”

</p><p>Scott looks at Stiles sternly, and Stiles cackles.

</p><p>“I know, I know, family is more important than that. What makes you think Allison wouldn’t want to stay with you when you go home?”

</p><p>Scott sighs. “She’s just… she’s traveled <em>everywhere</em>, Stiles. Her dad is the archbishop. I just don’t think McCall county is going to be big or exciting enough for her.”

</p><p>“I mean, I don’t know. Maybe she’s tired of traveling and wants to settle down. Plus like, your mom is healthy as hell and I don’t think she’ll want to give up the title until she’s good and ready, you know? Like, you’ve got <em>years</em> to travel with Allison before you’d need to go home.”

</p><p>Scott seems a little mollified. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t think of it that way.”

</p><p>Stiles puts an arm around Scott’s shoulders, pulling him onto the bed. “I have no idea why nobility are all like this. Even if Allison doesn’t want to settle down, there’s no harm in trying. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out, but you two seem to really like each other.”

</p><p>“Yeah. She’s amazing,” Scott says, voice full of wonder.

</p><p>“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You’re pretty amazing too.”

</p><p>Scott snorts. “Not as amazing as her.”

</p><p>“I’m not having this conversation with you, dude,” Stiles says, jostling Scott with his shoulder.

</p><p>“What about you?” Scott asks innocently. “You still crushing on Lydia Martin?”

</p><p>“Don’t - don’t even suggest that. She rejected me <em>so</em> soundly. Shredded my ego. I may never recover.”

</p><p>“Anyone else you like, though? What about Erica?”

</p><p>“Eugh, no. Erica only has eyes for Boyd. I’m over pining for people who clearly want someone else.” It had been bad enough watching Lydia moon over Jackson Whittemore.

</p><p>Scott turns awkwardly on the bed to look at Stiles. “Who <em>are</em> you crushing on, then? Don’t try to deny it.”

</p><p>Stiles sighs deeply. He doesn’t want to speak the words and make them true, both because it’s mortifying and because he fears that somehow that will make them harder to ignore; but also, Scott has been there for Stiles through thick and thin. He owes him the truth.

</p><p>“It’s not really… I mean, it can’t happen, really. It’s an issue of station,” Stiles says, feeling his stomach churn just by saying the words.

</p><p>Scott pauses. “Oh Goddess, are you crushing on Princess Cora? Because I don’t know if I can be supportive of that. She fucking scares me.”

</p><p>Stiles doubles over in sudden laughter, unable to stop himself. It takes a solid minute to get himself under control. “Absolutely not, I have more self-preservation than that, thank you.”

</p><p>“It’s not Princess Kate, is it? Because she gives me a bad vibe.”

</p><p>Stiles smacks Scott on the shoulder. “No! It’s, um… it’s Prince Derek.”

</p><p>Scott gapes at Stiles, almost falls off the bed in his haste to get a look at him. “You like guys? Since when?”

</p><p>“I don’t know, for a while? It was just never an issue because I was so obsessed with Lady Lydia. I didn’t really have time to be attracted to anyone else.” Stiles looks away, afraid that Scott is going to freak out about this.

</p><p>Instead he just hugs Stiles and knocks him over in the process, until they’re both laying on the bed and laughing. “It’s okay. I don’t honestly get it, but it’s okay. Way better than either of the Princesses here, dude.”

</p><p>Stiles huffs a laugh. “Yeah. I don’t know. He’s not <em>nice</em>, and I hate that he benches me for no reason, but there’s just something about him…”

</p><p>Scott smirks. “The muscles? The jawline? His handsome face?”

</p><p>“Shut up!” Stiles shoves Scott off the bed. “I’m not <em>that</em> shallow, asshole.”

</p><p>After a few moments, Scott’s head pops up. “He’s kind of a jerk, but you’re kind of a jerk too. It’s not that weird, all things considered.”

</p><p>Stiles looks away, overwhelmed by how grateful he is that Scott understands. “He’s… he seems overwhelmed, almost? You don’t see him in leadership training, but he’s really trying. He just doesn’t have the training. It - this sounds stupid, but it makes me want to help him.”

</p><p>“That’s not stupid, dude. That’s really good. It’s like me teaching Allison flying.”

</p><p>Stiles ducks his head and shrugs. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I don’t think he’s going to kiss me for helping him, though.”

</p><p>Scott makes a doubtful face, but Stiles can’t tell if it’s because he agrees with what was said or not. “Can I come back on the bed now?” Scott asks after a long silence. Stiles laughs and drags him back up.

</p><p>When he goes back to his room later that night, his chest feels lighter than it has in ages.

</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><strong>Allison B</strong>

</p><p>Stiles wakes to knocking on his door before the sun has even risen. If someone’s dying, he’s not sure why they would come to Stiles. Professor Deaton’s healing abilities are much better. Maybe Scott got something stuck on the roof of the barn and needs him to teleport it down?

</p><p>Stiles blinks three times when he sees it’s Prince Derek at his door. The first is for obvious reasons: the last time he saw His Highness here, he almost got rejected from the Black Eagles entirely.

</p><p>The second is for the Prince’s appearance: he’s wearing a simple shirt; no jacket or vest and no ridiculous neck scarf. Not that the Prince has bad looks, but it’s not a bad look on him.

</p><p>The third is because Allison is there with him. She smiles shyly at Stiles and he just sort of dumbly gapes back at her. And then at Prince Derek.

</p><p>“Did someone die? Are you kicking me out? Why did you bring Allison?” he asks.

</p><p>His Highness smirks at him. Stiles wants to wipe the smug look off his face. “We’re going running.”

</p><p>“Good for you, have fun, stay safe,” Stiles says as he starts to close the door.

</p><p>His Smugness blocks the door with a foot. “You’re coming with,” he says, and Stiles scoffs.

</p><p>“Like hell I am.”

</p><p>“You’re coming with,” Prince Derek continues, “because you need to build up stamina.” He forces the door open and crowds into Stiles’ space, almost making him fall backwards onto the bed. “Don’t get this wrong, kid. You joined my house: now you’re going to have to earn your place. You keep coasting along and I’ll get rid of you.”

</p><p>Prince Derek’s face is barely inches from Stiles’ own, his voice low and sincere, though no less threatening for it, and Stiles juts his chin mulishly. He’s about to tell His Annoyingness where to shove his self-righteous attitude when Allison pipes up from behind the Prince.

</p><p>“It’ll be fun, Stiles! I always run with Derek in the mornings, you’ll love it.”

</p><p>Stiles closes his mouth around the words. He’s not going to be rude in front of Allison, even if the Prince’s smug look only grows more smug when Stiles backs up and gets dressed.

</p><p>Stiles has to slow to a walk barely twenty minutes into the run. Prince Derek looks back on him with a look that’s equal parts contempt and pity and Stiles wants to hit him so badly.

</p><p>Allison slows to walk with him, though. “It’s hard, isn’t it?” she says, looking at the trees in this part of the monastery lawn. “You don’t get used to it for a while, or at least, I didn’t.”

</p><p>Stiles catches his breath for a few moments as they walk, tries to think of a response. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I guess. Why do it?”

</p><p>“Hm?” she hums.

</p><p>“Y’know,” Stiles says, gesturing between them. “Run.”

</p><p>“Like Derek said, I need to work on my stamina. I don’t want to get left behind in a battle, you know?”

</p><p>Stiles feels his guts twist. “Not really.”

</p><p>“Hm. I thought you would know how that felt, since Derek keeps holding you back.”

</p><p>Stiles shrugs, wheezes a breath, and starts running again.

</p><p>Who cares if Allison is right. Who cares if this is what he needs to do to make ‘Derek’ let him on the field. Who cares.

</p><p>On some level, the burn in Stiles’ lungs is a blessing; a distraction from his frustrations, a reminder of the presence of his body, a fire to push him further. He just hates that Prince Derek is the one making him do it.

</p><p>The Prince is already a full three body lengths in front of them, running calmly and gracefully with his stupidly tight ass and gorgeous thighs. Stiles hates those thighs and how much he wants to touch them.

</p><p>“Pegasus training is going well,” Allison says as they run, and it’s all Stiles can do to grunt. “Thanks for putting me on it. I’ve always liked horse riding, but flying feels so free…”

</p><p>Stiles tries his best to smile at her, he really does, but he’s pretty sure what comes out is a grimace based on how much his body is hurting. “That’s awesome,” he gasps out.

</p><p>Allison looks away and shrugs. “I’m not as good as Scott, though.”

</p><p>“So?”

</p><p>“I don’t have the talent to succeed as a Pegasus knight. Better to stick to archery -“

</p><p>Stiles grabs her arm and almost falls over with the effort it takes to stop her. “Fuck,” he says, gasping, “that.”

</p><p>She just shrugs. “It is what it is. If I can’t be good enough at it to help Derek or my father, then what’s the point?”

</p><p>Stiles gapes at her. “What’s the point? Who the hell cares what the point is. If you love it, you should do it.”

</p><p>She smiles at him, but her eyes look brittle. “If you lack fundamental talent -“

</p><p>“Talent isn’t real,” Stiles says. Allison must be shocked at the firmness of his voice, because she stops speaking entirely. “No one starts out good at something. Scott was awful on a Pegasus for the first two or three years of his training. He was scared of heights, he couldn’t hit a damn thing when he charged, and his control of the Pegasus was abysmal. I can’t tell you how many days he limped from being thrown.”

</p><p>“Then Scott has more experience than me,” Allison says, still looking a little shocked. “I can’t very well catch up -“

</p><p>“Why are you comparing yourself to Scott? Of course it’ll take time to develop the skills Scott has spent years on, but that doesn’t matter. If you love doing it, then do it.”

</p><p>Allison looks away.

</p><p>“Fuck,” Stiles says, scratching his head. “You’re so like His Highness; so focused on what’s happening right now that you can’t see a few steps in front of you.”

</p><p>When she looks back at Stiles, her face is determined. “Say what you want about me, but don’t insult Derek like that.”

</p><p>Stiles throws his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “It’s not an insult, it’s an observation. Focusing on what’s happening now is useful for a soldier, but if you get stuck, you’ll never be a good officer. Thinking to the future, thinking about growth, those are the precise skills needed for strategy and leadership.” He’s quoting something Deaton said to him during their leadership trainings, but he hopes it sounds sincere and not trite.

</p><p>“I can’t help the way things are,” Allison says. Prince Derek must have heard them arguing, because he’s stopped running and is now walking back to check on the two of them.

</p><p>“Don’t say ‘I’m not strong enough’ and then give up. Ask yourself ‘what do I need to do to become strong enough?’” Stiles says fiercely, lowering his voice so His Nosiness can’t hear. “Don’t live just to fight or you’ll miss peace when it’s right under your nose. If you love flying, then fly. You don’t need to justify it to do it, and if you love it, then you’ll get better.”

</p><p>Prince Derek stops in front of them, expression exasperated but somewhat fond. Presumably because Allison is here, since he hasn’t an iota of affection for Stiles. Maybe like one iota, on a really good day.

</p><p>“Problem?” he asks, looking at Allison.

</p><p>Stiles watches her too. He sees the way her face goes from frustration to a sort of blank cheerfulness. The kind of expression that’s a long-practiced mask for feelings you can’t afford to show.

</p><p>Stiles answers before she can. “Yes, sir, but hopefully one that will be solved in time.” He gives Allison a look before jogging off, leaving the two of them behind. Even if he hates running, at least it’s a useful escape.

</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><strong>Derek B</strong>

</p><p>The house has just gotten back from a field mission in which Stiles stood by a barn and watched his friends get trashed by bandits while casting Torch uselessly, so to say he’s frustrated would be, perhaps, an understatement.

</p><p>“Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?” Stiles asks, pulling Prince Derek aside after he dismisses everyone else. “Are you actually fucking kidding me? Is your strategic processing so fucking limited that you still can’t imagine a way to use me in battle, or are you petty enough to not use me even when you need me?”

</p><p>The sound echoes in the empty courtyard, and His Highness’s confusion turns to anger. “How dare you speak to me like this?”

</p><p>“How dare you get away with that kind of half-assed shit in battle and still call the shots! How dare you underestimate your foe and almost get a student killed. What the hell is wrong with you?”

</p><p>Prince Derek turns, face shadowed. “I know,” he says, his voice low where before it had been high and loud. “I know.”

</p><p>“Then fucking <em>do</em> something about it. I thought you were taking Deaton’s lessons seriously, but if this is the best you can do, then you still need a lot more work!”

</p><p>“I’m doing my best,” he says defensively. “I’m not exactly the best strategist in the first place.”

</p><p>“No one is!” Stiles says, fear at seeing Scott bleeding out on the ground, knocked off of his Pegasus, pitching his voice louder than he means to. “I wasn’t. But that’s the point of the damn trainings and practice battles and meetings we’ve been doing. The books Deaton has given you. If you’re not understanding, then you need to tell him so he can teach you, instead of pretending like everything’s fine and fucking up needlessly.”

</p><p>“I… I can’t just…” His Highness begins to say, but he turns away instead of finishing his thought.

</p><p>Stiles pants lightly, overwhelmed by the surge of emotion the conversation has sent through him and by the intensity of his reaction. He waits, though. Stiles may not be good with people, but he’s trying.

</p><p>Prince Derek’s brow shines faintly in the light of the setting sun, sweat damped skin greyed with dirt. His cape and cravat are torn, his sword nicked and dinged by the fighting. Stiles has to remind himself that His Highness was the one who grabbed Scott and dragged him to Stiles with a desperate look in his eye. The one who begged him to save Scott.

</p><p>“It’s hard,” Prince Derek says at last, his voice small. Soft. “I can’t appear weak.”

</p><p>Stiles has to fight to keep the frustration out of his voice. “Do you really think,” he says carefully, “that any of them, that any of <em>us</em> care if you make a mistake? Or, that we’ll think you’re weak if you fuck up?”

</p><p>Derek shrugs. The gesture is bizarre on his body; Stiles would have expected a stately tip of the head, a raised hand, a quirked eyebrow. Derek doesn’t look stately, though. He looks tired. Grimy. Defeated.

</p><p>“We know you’ll have our back, thick or thin,” Stiles says, “regardless of whether we make a mistake or not. Why shouldn’t we have your back through the same?”

</p><p>Derek looks up at the sky, at the sunset, and Stiles has to look away to avoid seeing the Crown Prince crying. Is there some kind of law against making a guy that important cry, Stiles wonders deliriously.

</p><p>“It’s not like Deaton doesn’t know where you’re struggling,” Stiles all but whispers. “But even if you don’t feel comfortable going to him, you can come to me. I’ll help you.” He breathes in deeply. “You’re not alone.”

</p><p>They’re silent for a minute, Derek’s shoulders shaking, until the Prince looks over at Stiles, eyes red. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

</p><p>“What?” Stiles asks, dumbfounded.

</p><p>“You must want something. A title? Money?”

</p><p>He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Is it really so unbelievable that someone would want to help you? With no ulterior motive?”

</p><p>“Everyone has a motive,” Derek says bitterly, looking down at the ground.

</p><p>“Does Scott? Does Allison? Do you think they follow you because they want something from you?” When he doesn’t answer, Stiles continues, “seriously, the world doesn’t revolve around you. Sometimes people look to a leader because they need someone to guide them, not because they want something from them. You want my motive? I want Scott to make it out of this school alive and unharmed and you’re my best shot at getting him there. The only thing I want from you is to be less of a fuck up.”

</p><p>Derek looks at the ground like it’s holding a whole world of secrets, like he’ll be able to find answers if he just doesn’t look up. After a long moment, he nods.

</p><p>“Great,” Stiles says. He steps forward and reaches out a hand to shake. “To a fruitful partnership.”

</p><p>Derek looks at it like it’s a poisonous snake, or maybe a piece of particularly confusing refuse, but he takes it gingerly anyway.

</p><p>“This means you have to field me now,” Stiles says. “No more telling me to sit around practicing useless spells.”

</p><p>Derek’s face looks particularly pained at that, but he shrugs and nods.

</p><p>Something about him, the way his face still looks creased in anguish, the sad hollowness of his eyes, makes Stiles pull him into a hug. It’s kind of stilted, since Stiles is the only one putting anything into it, but he has it on good authority from Scott that his hugs are ‘pretty okay’, so.

</p><p>After a moment, Derek says into his ear, “what are you doing?”

</p><p>“See that’s exactly the kind of thing that tells me you need a hug,” Stiles says. When Derek still doesn’t relax, Stiles cuffs the back of his head gently and says, “seriously. If you’re always pretending to be strong for everyone else’s benefit, when do you get to ask for hugs? When do you get to be vulnerable? That sounds like hell.”

</p><p>Derek inches his way into it, slowly bringing his arms around Stiles and gripping him with an increasingly fervent strength.

</p><p>It turns out, Derek is a damn good hugger, if a little out of practice.

</p><p>Stiles almost doesn’t hear it, the voice is so small. He’s pretty sure he didn’t imagine it, though, because his imagination could never conceive of Derek whispering a tiny, “thank you,” to him.

</p><p>As they pull away, Stiles gives a jaunty little salute and grins. “Hugger extraordinaire at your service. Whenever you have the need, I’m here to help.”

</p><p>Derek’s eyes are a little wet and a little red, but his smile looks genuine, maybe the first one Stiles has ever seen from him. It’s a pretty thing.

</p><p>Stiles doesn’t feel so shallow about his silly little crush.

</p><p>But Derek doesn’t need someone to have a crush on him; he needs a friend. So Stiles squashes those feelings down in his chest and schools his face. “Seriously,” he repeats. “Anytime. You need to talk? A hug? To beat the shit out of something? I’m there.”

</p><p>Derek wipes his face on an ashen sleeve and nods gratefully.

</p><p>When they part, when Stiles goes to the bathhouse to scrub the blood and dirt out of his skin, he feels for the first time like maybe he has a place in this house.

</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><strong>Boyd B</strong>

</p><p>Stiles tries for a cool and confident air as he sidles into the stables where Boyd, Isaac, and Derek are currently working with their horses. He fucks it up not even three steps in when he stumbles over what he thinks is a rake, or maybe a pitchfork, and falls face first into the stable wall. He even manages to startle Derek’s horse, which is strange, because Derek doesn’t even ride horses. Do Princes need ceremonial horses or something? Shouldn’t he ride in a carriage?

</p><p>Stiles doesn’t bother trying to keep up the charade, he just waves awkwardly as Derek glares at him and walks quickly over to the stall Boyd is working in.

</p><p>“Hey, would you mind putting me out of my misery real quick?” Stiles asks. “We can pretend your horse crushed my skull on accident, it’ll be fine.” He’s keeping his voice low so the other two people in the stables don’t listen in. Or at least, attempting to.

</p><p>Boyd doesn’t even look up from his brushing. “What do you want?”

</p><p>This is the part Stiles hadn’t, uh, actually planned for. How do you apologize for projecting your own issues onto someone else?

</p><p>Stiles decides to just go the direct route.

</p><p>“Sorry for projecting my own issues onto you,” he says, fiddling with the straps on Boyd’s saddle where it’s hanging from the wall. “I, um, shouldn’t have said those things about you.”

</p><p>Boyd stares at him, and Stiles kind of wants to wriggle out of his skin. He doesn’t like scrutiny.

</p><p>“I don’t have any friends here,” Stiles says, “besides Scott. And I haven’t really tried making any. At all. So, everything I said about you, it was - it was really about me. In the end.”

</p><p>Boyd continues staring.

</p><p>“Come on, dude, you can get mad at me, I don’t care, just please stop staring at me silently. It’s kind of freaking me out,” Stiles says.

</p><p>Boyd looks down at his brush instead, before going back to brushing his horse.

</p><p>Derek looks at Stiles from just outside the stall, with judgment or maybe concern, and Stiles makes a series of abortive gestures in a desperate attempt to get him to go away, or at least not say anything.

</p><p>His Exasperatedness just rolls his eyes and stalks away to his own stall.

</p><p>After a few beats, Boyd says, “you were right, though,” and Stiles really doesn’t know what to do with that.

</p><p>“About you not trying?”

</p><p>Boyd nods. “I miss my family. I didn’t really have many friends back home, but my grandmother…”

</p><p>Stiles lets out a long sigh. “I miss my dad. It’s been just us since we left the Empire, and I’ve never spent this long away from him.”

</p><p>Boyd stops brushing. “Yeah,” he says.

</p><p>“Have you - have you tried contacting them?” Stiles asks. “Never mind, stupid question, of course you have.”

</p><p>“Three weeks both ways,” Boyd says and Stiles winces.

</p><p>“Jeez, dude, that sucks. I thought one week between letters was rough.”

</p><p>Boyd shrugs, goes back to brushing. The sunlight through the stable window slides across his head, gently tinging it orange, and the silence that stretches between them feels like the dust that hangs suspended in that light. Stiles isn’t sure he wants to break it.

</p><p>“Do you think they would want you to be alone?” he asks when the silence feels like it’s killing him.

</p><p>Boyd shakes his head, but he doesn’t meet Stiles’ gaze.

</p><p>“Yeah, pretty sure the last thing my dad said to me was to make friends and to not piss everyone off and it looks like I messed up on both counts,” Stiles jokes.

</p><p>“Not everyone,” Boyd says quietly.

</p><p>“Uh, are you sure about that?”

</p><p>“Isaac doesn’t hate you,” Boys points out.

</p><p>“Going to generously ignore the fact that you didn’t say that you don’t hate me and ask: how the hell do you know that Isaac doesn’t hate me?”

</p><p>“He said so. To Erica.”

</p><p>“To Erica, huh?” Stiles asks slyly.

</p><p>Boyd rolls his eyes and Stiles could really do with less sass from every person in this house.

</p><p>“You don’t - you haven’t talked to him?”

</p><p>“During meals, I do.”

</p><p>“What about when you’re free? You both ride horses, you spend practically every day in here together. Wouldn’t you have a lot in common?”

</p><p>Boyd scoffs. “An Imperial noble having something in common with me?”

</p><p>“Not like his horse cares that he’s a noble. Not like his lance cares that he’s a noble. Not like Prince Dork-lord cares that he’s a noble, he trains you both just the same.”

</p><p>Boyd shrugs, but doesn’t say anything.

</p><p>“Hey Isaac!” Stiles says, loud enough to be heard through the whole stables. “What’s your horse named anyway?”

</p><p>Isaac appears after a few seconds at the door of the stall, face adorably confused, and asks, “what?”

</p><p>“What’s your horse called?” Stiles asks again. “Like, does it have a name?”

</p><p>Isaac’s face turns a beautiful shade of cherry red and he looks back towards Derek’s stall like the Prince is going to save him.

</p><p>“Hey, nope, no getting outside help here. The more you stall the more determined I am to find out what the name is. My first and only horse was named ‘Mr. Peebles’, I promise you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

</p><p>Isaac says it so softly that Stiles can’t hear it over the sound of Boyd’s horse breathing.

</p><p>“What?” Stiles says. “Seriously dude come on we’re not going to bully you based on your horse’s name.”

</p><p>“Nancy,” Isaac chokes out. “Her name is Nancy.”

</p><p>“Oh my Goddess,” Stiles says, trying to hold his laughter in, “that’s so <em>precious</em>.”

</p><p>“My horse is named Alicia,” Boyd says. “My sister made me name him after her when I first got him.”

</p><p>“Dude, I didn’t know you had a sister!” Stiles says.

</p><p>“She’s dead,” Boyd says flatly.

</p><p>Stiles winces. It’s one step forward, two steps back with the guy.

</p><p>“My brother is dead,” Isaac supplies conversationally.

</p><p>Both Boyd and Stiles turn to stare at him.

</p><p>“What?” Isaac asks, like he’s really not sure why that is a weird thing to say.

</p><p>Stiles puts his face in his hands and sucks a long breath in. “You two are so fucking perfect for each other. I’m going to go work on my essay for Deaton’s leadership class, have fun playing with your horsies.”

</p><p>Derek pulls Stiles back against the wall just outside the stable door when he leaves, holds a finger in front of his lips, and quirks an eyebrow between Stiles and the stables. “What are you trying to do?” he whispers.

</p><p>Stiles looks down at the bare inch between their bodies and then back up at Derek and the Prince reluctantly lets him go.

</p><p>“Just making up for being a jerk,” Stiles whispers back.

</p><p>Derek looks genuinely confused. “Why?”

</p><p>“What do you mean, why? Do I need a reason to be nice to someone? Or to make up for my shitty behavior?”

</p><p>Derek grits his teeth. “What do you want from him?”

</p><p>“I thought we had already established that not everyone does something because they want to get something out of it.”

</p><p>Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles, which is quite frankly unnecessary.

</p><p>“Seriously dude? What is your damage, calm down. I said some mean things to Boyd a month ago, I felt bad about them, I want to make it up to him. It’s really that simple.”

</p><p>When Derek continues to look at Stiles like he’s the most suspicious person in the world, Stiles throws his hands in the air.

</p><p>“Are you cranky because you need a hug or something? I thought we talked about this, you’re supposed to come ask me if you want one.”

</p><p>Before Derek can object - or really, despite the objections that Derek is making - Stiles pulls him into a fierce hug.

</p><p>Just like before, Derek takes a long moment before he’s willing to hug Stiles back.

</p><p>“You know,” Stiles says. “Everything I said to Boyd, it applies to you too. You’re allowed to make friends with them. Your family wouldn’t want you to be all alone.”

</p><p>Derek stiffens suddenly in Stiles’ arms, so he untangles himself and steps back.

</p><p>“Just a thought,” Stiles says with a grin and bounces down the road to his dorm, leaving the Prince in his dust.

</p><p>When he sees Boyd the next morning, he’s leaning over a book with Isaac and they’re whispering to each other like conspirators. The sight brings an unbidden smile to Stiles’ face that he has to force off before His Unfriendliness tries to have him court martialed or something.

</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><strong>Isaac B</strong>

</p><p>It’s a little bit like watching your impending doom in slow motion, is what Stiles thinks. Something about seeing Derek’s face twist in anger, knowing what’s about to come out of his mouth, seeing Isaac shrinking back with his sword in his hand, it’s like Stiles has developed foresight and it’s screaming to him that bad news is coming.

</p><p>Of course, seeing your impending doom and <em>stopping</em> your impending doom are two entirely different things. Stiles can see with almost crystal clarity how this training session is going to become a shitshow, but he can’t open his mouth in time, can’t get his body to agree with him, before Derek is shouting, “what the hell is wrong with you,” at Isaac.

</p><p>It’s not even that Derek is wrong to do it, on an entirely theoretical level. Isaac could have seriously injured Scott with the move. And like, it’s <em>Scott</em>. Stiles would sell pretty much anyone but Scott for a peanut; though the people in his house are rapidly going from peanut to almond or even macadamia nut in Stiles’ estimation.

</p><p>But now Stiles is watching all of the trust that Derek has built up with Isaac drain away. The open face that Stiles reluctantly kind of adores - seriously it’s like mini-Scott but if Scott were an asshole, how can Stiles <em>not</em> love Isaac - is plastered over with a kind of indifference that is completely alien on Isaac’s face.

</p><p>He has to intervene before this goes much further. He knows Derek is going to go on this tear until he thinks Isaac has grasped that he did something wrong, and he knows equally well that Isaac isn’t going to grasp <em>anything</em> while someone is shouting at him. Derek is even standing intimidatingly over him.

</p><p>Still. He could probably have chosen a better way to intervene.

</p><p>One moment Derek’s eyebrows are drawn together in furious consternation, and the next the Prince is gone.

</p><p>“Oh shit,” Stiles whispers to himself. He’s in so much trouble when Derek actually manages to get back from wherever Stiles sent him.

</p><p>While he’s still alive and relatively unharmed, Stiles jumps the training yard fence gracelessly and stumbles over to Isaac.

</p><p>“He’s not mad at you,” he says breathlessly. “Well, he’s a little mad at you,” he clarifies when Isaac raises an eyebrow at him. “He’s freaked out because you could seriously have hurt Scott there. He’s not going to hit you or punish you besides like, making you run laps or whatever. I promise.”

</p><p>Isaac looks a little startled, his gaze drifting back to the empty space the Prince used to occupy. “What did I do?”

</p><p>Stiles sits down next to him on the ground. “This is going to sound a little obvious, but don’t <em>ever</em> point your sword at someone who doesn’t have the right facial protection unless you actually mean to kill them. Scott took off his mask, right, and you kept going? You could have taken out his eye, or even killed him outright.” When Isaac opens his mouth to argue, Stiles interrupts him. “You were just roughhousing, I know. And Scott playing just as much as you were. But, this is serious. Swords are a weapon for killing, not for play. Even wooden ones.”

</p><p>Isaac scoffs a bit, but Scott looks a little guilty. Stiles doesn’t even need to admonish him before he says, “I’m - I’m sorry. I should have known better.”

</p><p>Isaac looks between them like he’s the butt of a joke.

</p><p>“Scott’s mom is a healer,” Stiles explains. “He’s seen fights with blunted weapons that have ended worse than this. Just because your sword is wood doesn’t mean it isn’t liable to hurt someone.”

</p><p>That’s about the time that Derek jogs onto the scene, looking even more furious than when he was yelling at Isaac.

</p><p>“Gotta go,” Stiles squeaks, stumbling to his feet. “Scott keep explaining!”

</p><p>Derek’s shout is almost a roar, and Stiles wastes no time looking back. He just runs as fast as his shrimpy little legs will take him - helpfully strengthened by his morning runs with Derek and Allison - towards his room and the safety of its lock.

</p><p>He doesn’t even get halfway there before Derek tackles him to the ground.

</p><p>For all that he’s not supposed to be falling for Derek, the guy’s really not making it easy, putting Stiles in these homoerotic situations.

</p><p>Stiles doesn’t even blame himself for the boner he pops as Derek pins him down with his body - really, if this is anyone’s fault, it’s Derek’s. His only solace is that they’re in a secluded corner of the terrace and no one is here to see Stiles embarrass himself.

</p><p>“What the hell,” Derek pants in his ear, “is your problem?”

</p><p>Stiles <em>does</em> manage to suppress the accompanying shiver, but he can’t stop from grinding his hips into the ground a little. Hopefully it’s not too obvious.

</p><p>“My problem,” he says thickly, “is you yelling at a kid who doesn’t know why you’re mad at him.” He’s not going to mention the hard length pressed into his back he’s not going to mention the hard length pressed into his back he’s not going to - “also is that a dagger in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

</p><p>“Shut. Up,” Derek grunts into his ear.

</p><p>Now Stiles is worried maybe it <em>is</em> a dagger or something. Derek wouldn’t stab him at the monastery, though, right?

</p><p>When he twists his head to try to get a better look at Derek’s face, he decides not to push his luck.

</p><p>“Sorry, sorry, shouldn’t have brought up your dick pressing into my back before you got the chance to say ‘no homo’ like a good little Prince.”

</p><p>Goddess, Stiles really hates his brain sometimes.

</p><p>Derek is off him in a flash, though.

</p><p>Probably getting the dagger out so he can murder Stiles, but, you know.

</p><p>Small miracles.

</p><p>Stiles’ uniform is ruined, he thinks as he sits up. He hasn’t turned towards Derek yet so he has the chance to awkwardly shift his dick around in his pants so it’s a <em>little</em> bit less obvious. Stiles’ shirt is covered in dirt from where he hit the ground, and it’s his only clean one right now. Seriously, fuck his luck.

</p><p>He turns around and almost curses aloud. Of course Derek is the picture of rumpled hotness. His clothes are mussed and his neck scarf thing is deliciously askew and he looks like he wants to murder Stiles with his teeth. But not in a sexy way.

</p><p>Who is he kidding, everything Derek does is sexy.

</p><p>Rather than deal with the sexual appeal practically wafting off of the Prince in front of him, Stiles decides to take off his shirt.

</p><p>Hm. Maybe the sexual appeal is already affecting him.

</p><p>Thankfully he has an undershirt on, though it doesn’t stop Derek from looking down at his chest. Probably furious that anyone would reveal their body to him, like it’s a challenge to his hotness or something. Not that Stiles presents much of a threat on that front.

</p><p>Stiles shifts uncomfortably. “You ruined my shirt, so,” he says. Derek doesn’t look away. “My eyes are up here, dude.”

</p><p>Derek startles, ears going bright red, before looking away, face sour again.

</p><p>“Anyway,” the Prince says. “Don’t  Warp me like that.”

</p><p>“Then don’t yell at Isaac like that!” Stiles counters. “You have to have realized at this point how fragile he is and he practically idolizes you. If you yell at him you’re going to ruin all of that.”

</p><p>“He’s not - he’s not <em>that fragile</em>,” Derek says.

</p><p>Stiles slaps his own face in frustration. “Fuck off! What is wrong with you! It’s like you’re trying to sabotage yourself despite my best efforts.”

</p><p>“Well,” Derek says grumpily. “Even if he is fragile, I should train it out of him.”

</p><p>Stiles is sure his respect for Prince Dipshit has reached rock bottom levels. The guy is lucky he’s so hot.

</p><p>“I seriously want to hit you right now. If I didn’t think you’d just come back and tackle me to the ground again, I’d Warp you away just so I wouldn’t have to look at you.” Stiles covers his face in his hands. “Why did I ever join this stupid house and get emotionally invested? Damn it, Scott.”

</p><p>He can feel Derek gently pry his hands off his face. When he looks up, the Prince is altogether too close. “Shut up,” he says, but this time it sounds like an endearment. “What are you talking about?”

</p><p>“You were the one I came to asking about child abuse in the empire. Did you really never think that I might have been talking about someone in your house?”

</p><p>Derek’s still holding Stiles’ wrists, but he doesn’t seem to notice the way his hands feel like they’re searing into Stiles’ skin.

</p><p>“I - you’re telling me you think <em>Isaac</em> -“

</p><p>“Yes I’m telling you I think Isaac,” Stiles says fiercely. “You haven’t noticed the way he flinches away from hits during training? How he avoids people who yell or talk loudly - like I think he’s skipped every class with Finstock he’s had - and the fact that he has bruising whenever he comes back from visits to home? Have you seriously not noticed any of this?”

</p><p>Derek shifts uncomfortably.

</p><p>“Whatever, I don’t care - whether you noticed it or not, you <em>don’t</em> get to shout at him like that. If you’re mad, go away until you can control yourself enough to speak to him evenly.”

</p><p>“But,” Derek begins. “What about him endangering Scott?”

</p><p>“I. Don’t. Care,” Stiles says harshly. “You yelling at Isaac is just going to make him shut down and not listen to you. If anything, you’re putting Scott in <em>more</em> danger by pulling that stunt.” When Derek doesn’t look convinced, Stiles says, “we explained it to him just fine without any raised voices. He <em>didn’t know</em>. He had no idea he could have hurt Scott, and he was really sorry, <em>once we explained it to him calmly</em>.”

</p><p>Derek looks slightly mollified, but he still hasn’t let go of Stiles’ wrists. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, not even looking at Stiles’ face.

</p><p>“It’s fine. Just do better next time.”

</p><p>Derek nods, looks down at his hands and the distance between him and Stiles, and pulls away immediately. As if Stiles’ cooties had burned him.

</p><p>Whatever. No point getting his panties in a twist over His Repressedness. The dude craves contact so much he can’t help himself from touching Stiles, the least desirable person in their house. Poor guy.

</p><p>Stiles reluctantly Warps Derek back to the training yard before going to his room. No point watching anymore when he’s already this sexually frustrated; better to get off quickly doing his best not to think about handsome Princes who don’t give half a shit about Stiles.

</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><strong>Erica B</strong>

</p><p>“So, like,” Stiles says, hands shaking slightly, “please don’t move or I might cut off your arm.”

</p><p>Erica makes a face at him from where she’s laying on his bed.

</p><p>Normally Stiles would be ecstatic that a hot girl was on his bed. Normally he isn’t attempting to remove said hot girl’s crest with an untested method.

</p><p>What could go wrong?

</p><p>Stiles looks between the scalpel he’d stolen from Deaton’s bag and the crest on Erica’s shoulder and wonders for the hundredth time if maybe he’s a little out of his element.

</p><p>The method was in a book! That makes it legit!

</p><p>… even if the book was so old the pages had started to disintegrate a little bit, and the title was <em>Arsen von Tersius’ Dark Magic Theorems: A Practicum</em>. Even Stiles has to admit that’s a little shady.

</p><p>But he checked it with Deaton! And the professor said it should work!

</p><p>… well, he said it <em>might</em> work, and he had the look on his face that meant he was concerned about Stiles’ behavior but wasn’t going to stop him.

</p><p>So, Stiles has some mixed feelings. But he explained all of this to Erica over the course of the last two hours and she still wanted to go forward, so he isn’t going to chicken out now.

</p><p>Gripping the scalpel more intently, and rechecking the intricate rune he drew over Erica’s crest, Stiles sets the scalpel to her skin and carefully begins carving the lines.

</p><p>It’s like tracing, he tells himself. Like knife tracing. Dark magic knife tracing.

</p><p>He has a towel in his off hand to wipe off the blood, which proves more necessary than he thought, because after just the first pentacle, the rag is more smearing than properly absorbing.

</p><p>Erica doesn’t move a muscle. She doesn’t flinch, or twitch, or even grit her teeth. She watches Stiles’ scalpel like it’s a fascination and not a danger. Stiles is more afraid of her than he is the knife, all things considered.

</p><p>When the double inset pentagrams are finished, Stiles begins painstakingly carving the runes on the points of both stars. He has to peer down at the book every few slices to make sure he’s not messing it up too badly, holding the page open with his elbow to keep it clean of blood.

</p><p>You know, when Stiles let his dad convince him to come to the monastery with Scott, he really hadn’t expected he’d be practicing dark magic to remove someone’s crest, yet here he is.

</p><p>He wipes his forehead with the rag in his offhand after the first set of five runes, only realizing after he’s done it that he’s gotten Erica’s blood on his face. Gross.

</p><p>When all of the runes are carved, Stiles focuses his magic and thinks back to Marin Morrell’s book. Black magic is destruction, white magic is protection, and dark magic is degradation.

</p><p>Stiles thinks it’s easiest to grasp as smells. Black magic is the harsh, hot scent of burning pitch. White magic is the soft, green smell of his mother’s garden.

</p><p>Dark magic is the foul and fungal smell of rot.

</p><p>He tries to keep that imagine in his mind as he calls the precise spell outlined in the book.

</p><p>von Tersius’ spellwork is strangely melodic. Stiles has heard of white magic being associated with music, but the spell calls for a series of haunting, lingering notes to be sung as Stiles fills his carving with power.

</p><p>He doesn’t have the chance to wonder about the implications, because he has to keep all his focus on controlling his power so that it doesn’t seep outside his runes and rot Erica’s arm off.

</p><p>He really wishes there was <em>anyone</em> else in the house who was practiced with dark magic because Stiles is really out of his element.

</p><p>Still, though Stiles staggers into the chair at his desk after a half hour of singing, exhausted beyond any mundane reason, Erica’s crest is beginning to fade. It starts from the outside, the power Stiles imbued in the runes eating away at its power, leaving scarred - though clear - skin in its wake.

</p><p>Erica watches the process with growing excitement. When the crest has faded and she’s left with nothing but Stiles’ artwork on her shoulder like a brand, she grabs Stiles from where he’s recovering on his chair and pulls him into a deep hug.

</p><p>“Thank you,” she says, perhaps the most earnest Stiles has ever heard Erica.

</p><p>“No problem,” he wheezes, already burning lungs squeezed painfully by Erica’s arms.

</p><p>She doesn’t bother to help him clean up, just bounds out of his room in search of trouble, Stiles can only presume.

</p><p><em>Stiles</em> has to ball up blood soaked sheets and towels and throw them away. He has to wash the floor thoroughly to get the blood out. He has to throw away his clothes too when he realizes his vest is so bloodstained it won’t recover. He has to surreptitiously put the scalpel back in Deaton’s bag, and the book back in the library. He has to take three showers before he’s certain there’s nothing untoward on his skin.

</p><p>He has to do all of this feeling like he hasn’t slept in three days.

</p><p>But when he sees Erica smiling at Boyd, no hint of hesitation or shyness on her face? When he sees her laughing with Allison and Isaac? When he sees her carefree face?

</p><p>He can’t say it isn’t worth it.

</p><p>It definitely isn’t worth the scrutiny, however.

</p><p>“What did you do to Erica?” Derek says one morning during their run. Allison has taken to practicing flying in the mornings, so it’s just Derek and Stiles in near complete silence.

</p><p>“What?” Stiles pants, stopping so he doesn’t have to feel any worse for how out of shape he is.

</p><p>“She’s acting weird lately. Smiling more.”

</p><p>“Why are you assuming I did something?” Stiles asks, stretching idly so he doesn’t have to look the Prince in his face.

</p><p>Derek crosses his incredibly toned arms. “You’re always up to something.”

</p><p>“So, what, Erica is happier now and you’re mad at me because you think I did something? Why is this even a problem, are you jealous of her?”

</p><p>“Why would I be jealous of Erica,” Derek scoffs.

</p><p>“Why would you be mad that she’s happy?”

</p><p>“I’m not - that’s not the point. Did you do something or didn’t you?”

</p><p>Prince Dickhead’s stick, though usually firmly planted in his ass, has for some reason been wedged even more deeply this morning than usual, it seems.

</p><p>“I might have been involved,” Stiles admits nonchalantly.

</p><p>Derek narrows his eyes. “What did you do?”

</p><p>“I didn’t do anything bad, you don’t have to say it like that for Goddess’ sake. I just helped her with her little crest problem.”

</p><p>“Her little crest problem,” he repeats.

</p><p>“You know, the one that would have fucking killed her? Or was that supposed to be a secret?”

</p><p>Derek pales a little bit.

</p><p>“Come on, dude, you can’t really be this ignorant about the shit that goes down in your own country. She said it affected her whole family.”

</p><p>“I - I didn’t -“

</p><p>“Whatever, it’s done now. No more crest for Erica, no more dying before she’s gotten the chance to do anything with her life,” Stiles says. “Did you know her family wanted to marry her off so she could pass on her crest? What kind of bullshit is that. ‘Sorry kid you’ve got 6 years to live but you’re going to spend them making babies that you’ll never get to meet, but don’t worry, it’s for the good of the family.’ Seriously, being nobility must <em>suck</em>.”

</p><p>Derek is staring at Stiles now. Stiles isn’t sure if it’s surprise or anger.

</p><p>“Not that, um. I guess it probably wasn’t like that for -“

</p><p>“No. It sucks,” Derek interrupts.

</p><p>He looks up and down the courtyard they were running through when they stopped. Not that there’s anyone to see. He steps forward, a little into Stiles’ space. 

</p><p>“Thanks,” he says. “For helping her. You didn’t have to.”

</p><p>“I mean, it wasn’t really a big -“

</p><p>And then Derek is hugging him. On his own. Without prompting. Stiles doesn’t even remember what he was saying, he’s so stunned. It takes a few seconds before he remembers he’s supposed to hug back.

</p><p>This must be what it’s like for Derek when Stiles hugs him. It’s nice.

</p><p>It’s really nice.

</p><p>When they let go, they’re both looking at the ground, too embarrassed to do much of anything but peek up at each other from under their eyelashes. Eventually Stiles motions to the way they had been running and Derek falls into step beside him.

</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><strong>Deaton B</strong>

</p><p>Stiles is feeling a lot less anxious for his fifth monthly meeting with Deaton than he was for his first.

</p><p>For one thing, Stiles isn’t currently in the throes of social pariah-dom. People sit next to him at lunch. Sometimes Boyd actually nods to him in the halls of the monastery. Derek doesn’t look at him like he’s a particularly disgusting stain wiped off of the Imperial boot.

</p><p>Still, Stiles can’t say he’s expecting it when he sits down in Deaton’s office and the first words out of the professor’s mout are, “why do you think it is that transportation magic can’t be used on hostile forces?”

</p><p>“Are you supposed to turn these meetings into little metaphysics lectures? What happened to giving me feedback about my performance?”

</p><p>“I’m pretty sure Archbishop Christopher gave me free reign over my academic counseling when he hired me,” Deaton says wryly.

</p><p>Stiles makes a face at him. Just because Deaton gets to decide how these things go doesn’t mean he has to be so smug about it.

</p><p>“Well?” Deaton asks. “Why do you think that is?”

</p><p>Stiles sighs and scratches his head. “Unwilling participants in transportation spells make the casting much more difficult.”

</p><p>“Difficult isn’t impossible. Didn’t the introduction of the transport magic text we use in class specifically say that it couldn’t be done?”

</p><p>Stiles shrugs. “I mean, I don’t know. Not really sure why you’re expecting me to solve an issue that magical scholars haven’t figured out yet.”

</p><p>Deaton folds his hands in front of him. “Let’s return to a question we addressed after your first month in the Black Eagles. What do you think the difference is between black and white magic?”

</p><p>“Morrell says it’s a combination of function and social construction. White magic is light and healing, which cultures associate with, I don’t know, protection or something, even though light magic can harm and healing can be reversed. It’s not application but like, domain.”

</p><p>“Okay. What is the difference between black and dark magic then?”

</p><p>Stiles knows better than to get snotty with these questions, even if they do make him feel like Deaton thinks he’s a toddler. “Domain, again. Black magic is destruction - fire, wind, thunder, frost - and dark magic is degradation - curses, poisons, summoning, death. Morrell wrote that she theorized that dark magic was a sub-domain of black magic.”

</p><p>Deaton tilts his head slightly. “Did you know that the black magic you’re describing used to be called anima magic? The change is rather recent, since the rise of the church as a learning institution some three hundred years ago.”

</p><p>“I - no? Not really sure what that has to do with anything,” Stiles says.

</p><p>“Just something to think about,” Deaton says enigmatically. Before Stiles can complain, he asks, “what kind of magic is the Torch spell?”

</p><p>“Uh, white? Is this a trick question?”

</p><p>“No tricks.” Deaton pulls out a scroll of paper and looks through it carefully. “You wrote in your essay on light magic that the Torch spell actually had more in common with the Fire spell than with Aura.”

</p><p>“I… yes? Offensive light magic doesn’t require a source of continuous power, not even Barrier or Lemegeton, but Torch does.”

</p><p>“I showed your paper to Marin, and she thought it was fascinating,” Deaton says, and Stiles almost faints. 

</p><p>Marin Morrell - Stiles’ academic idol, one of if not <em>the<em> preeminent scholars on magical theory - thought his dinky little paper was fascinating. He kind of regrets not putting a little more effort into the thing.

</em></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“She brought up the Freeze spell - have you heard of it?” When Stiles shakes his head, Deaton continues, “not very commonly known in these lands. It traps things - usually people - in a layer of magic that keeps them from moving. It’s been the study of Marin’s research in recent years, especially its relation to dark and anima magic. By most classifications, freeze is white magic, but Marin has found a group of anima magic users who are proficient in its casting, though they can’t heal at all.”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“So, what, white magic draws from dark and black magic? The line between disciplines is more fluid than you’d think? What does this have to do with transportation magic or my academics?”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Deaton smiles. “Transportation magic isn’t light or healing. Why do you think it’s considered white magic?”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Uh,” Stiles says. “Tradition? It doesn’t actively hurt people and you can’t use it on enemies, so…”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Deaton puts aside Stiles’ paper with the kind of delicacy that doesn’t quite seem earned. “His Highness informs me that you managed to Warp him without his will two weeks ago. It was quite far, from what I understand - from the training yard all the way to the cathedral.”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles panics for a second. Damn Derek for being a snitch. “‘Against his will’ seems a bit far, I mean, it was just a little harmless fun, pranks aren’t against the rules or anything -“

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“You’re not in trouble, Stiles,” Deaton says quickly. “He wasn’t angry with you, just confused. It was his understanding - and mine - that it’s not possible to Warp unwilling participants, and yet, you did it. How do you think that is?”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“He’s a friend - well, more like a reluctant companion. Very reluctant. And less companion than like, someone who has to be around me. But anyway, I know him well, it was kind of just instinctive. I’ve been helping Scott get to class on time by Warping him around the academy.”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“I see. When you Warped His Highness, were you frightened for his safety?”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“... no?”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“So he wasn’t in danger at all?”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Kind of the opposite.” When Deaton makes a gesture to explain, Stiles sighs. “It’s not a big deal. He got a little worked up, yelled at Isaac - von Lahey - and I needed to get him out of there, so I just… did it?”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Interesting. His Highness tells me that you performed a dark magic ritual on young von Reyes.”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles grumbles about loose lipped Princes under his breath.

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“He was concerned about potential harmful side effects - for you or von Reyes. Imagine my surprise when it was the same ritual you had asked me about just a week prior. I didn’t know you could perform dark magic, Stiles.”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“I mean, I just followed the instructions in the book, I don’t know what the issue is -“

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“If I attempted to follow the instructions in that book, it would not work. I know this because I’ve been looking into crest removal since Erica joined my house,” Deaton says, eyes a little sad. “You have said you can’t perform dark magic, and I believe you, but there are those who are proficient in dark and white magic. It’s not as though the two disciplines are mutually exclusive.”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Oookay,” Stiles draws out. “So -“

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“But I do wonder - Marin describes the mindset needed to approach the different disciplines of magic in her book. She’s the kind of prodigy that is a master of all three, after all. When you cast transportation magic, what kind of mindset do you adopt?”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles is a little taken aback. He’s never thought of -

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>He takes a pen off of Deaton’s desk, one of the fancy engraved kinds that can store its own ink, and focuses his will on it. When he Warps it across the room, he does it slowly, taking the time to think through what’s going on in his head.

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>The magic smells like something else entirely. Not herbal, not harsh, and not rotten. It’s almost like…

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Like the sickly sweet smell of his’ mom’s old perfume that he found ten years after her death. It had obviously gone off, but he couldn’t stop smelling it even when it made him feel sick.

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“I - I guess it’s like dark <em>and</em> white magic, somehow? Or maybe something else like them.”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“That’s what Marin thought. We don’t touch it in the practicum class, but her book on Advanced Transportation Magic puts forth the hypothesis that transportation magic came about from the synthesis of white and dark magic. The dark magic erases the space between two points and the white magic rebuilds it, allowing you to move an object instantaneously. I’ll tell her you agree.”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles blushes. “Ah, I mean, I’m sure you don’t have to do that. She must be a busy woman, and everything, doing all of that research and stuff -“

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“She asked me to keep her updated, so I don’t think she’ll mind,” Deaton says, smirking at Stiles like he knows the kid is about to faint.

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Uh, well, that’s cool I guess.” He’s really doing his best to be nonchalant and not melt into a puddle on the floor just because his favorite scholar is interested in his ideas.

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“If you follow that hypothesis,” Deaton continues, “it makes sense that you would be able to Warp unwilling people. Dark magic is, after all, commonly used in unwilling targets. Marin has never found another magic user capable of Warping unwilling parties, I’m sure she’ll be beside herself when she finds out.”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Uh, oh gosh. I don’t know if that’s - I mean, it’s not <em>that</em> big of a deal, is it?” Stiles doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s a little embarrassed at the idea of meeting Marin Morrell. He can barely keep his mouth straight around Derek and he just has an inappropriate crush on the guy.

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“It’s fine, Stiles, Marin being beside herself just means she’ll write me some very strongly worded letters and maybe send you a gift.”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Oh.”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Anyway,” Deaton says, leaning forward across the table. “How do you feel like you’re progressing in the house?”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“My secret mission to make everyone’s lives better? I mean, I kind of did it, right? Erica’s crest is gone, Boyd is making friends, Isaac doesn’t flinch as much in training, Allison is learning to fly, and the Prince and Princess are as flawless as ever. Not really sure what else you want me to do.”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Just because they are individually better now than they were before doesn’t mean your work is done,” Deaton says. “You’ve healed them, now you need to erase the distance between them. They still don’t know how to fight as a team, and Prince Derek doesn’t know how to lead them.”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“I mean… yeah, I’ve been working with him on that…” Stiles admits.

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“He’s doing better,” Deaton says, voice gentle. “It’s amazing how much better he’s doing in our leadership classes since you joined the house. You’re a good influence on him.”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“You’ll never catch him saying that,” Stiles jokes only half-seriously.

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“I wouldn’t be so sure. The Battle of the Eagle and Lion is approaching, you know, and he’s already put forth his roster.” Deaton slides a piece of parchment to Stiles across the table.

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“What - why am I on this? He’s literally never had me actually participate in a fight.”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Maybe he’s willing to try now. For all that you may think His Highness is a heartless man, I think you’ll find that he contains hidden depths.”

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Stiles rolls his eyes. He knows about Derek’s hidden depths, hell, he’s still not over the guy actively hugging him last week, but there’s a difference between having feelings and trusting Stiles enough to bring him on the battlefield.

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“We’ll see, I guess,” Stiles says, before picking up his things and strolling out of the room to tell Scott.

</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p><strong>Battle of the Eagle and Lion</strong>

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles has never properly taken part in the Black Eagles pre-battle rituals before, so he feels a little justified in looking between the other seven of them in bewilderment as they huddle in a circle.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>It’s like they’re playing some kind of sporting game instead of going into a serious fight.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Still, it’s kind of nice when Derek rolls his eyes and loops an arm around Stiles’ shoulders, tugging him in. He definitely doesn’t focus on the warm length of the Prince’s body next to his, nor the way Scott is smirking at him slightly.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>The jerk.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek gives a speech that Stiles can only assume is supposed to be inspirational; he’s so nervous at the prospect of actually fighting someone that he spends most of it keeping down his breakfast.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek must notice something because he holds Stiles back as everyone else moves to recheck their gear. “You’re going to be fine,” he says.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Kind of feel stupid for yelling at you to let me on the field and now I’m chickening out,” Stiles says in a single breath.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“You’ll be <em>fine</em>,” Derek repeats, exasperated. “If you’re cornered, just Warp me to you and I’ll take care of you.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“You know, as reassuring as the knight in shining armor shtick is -“

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek interrupts him with a hug, and it shuts Stiles up immediately.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>When he lets go, Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek. “You’re only doing that because it makes me stop talking, aren’t you? I’m onto you, dude.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek smirks and pushes Stiles out of the tent and onto the grounds they’ll be fighting on.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>It’s not that Stiles is only nervous because he’s never been in an official battle before. It’s not even just that he’s nervous because there’s kind of a lot of pressure not to fuck up in front of the Black Eagles and the other two houses.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>No, the biggest pressure Stiles is facing right now is the furious expression on Jackson Whittemore’s face when the houses line up to shake hands.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>The dude looks like he’s popped a vein, he’s glaring at Stiles so hard.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles notes the tension in the air when Derek and Princess Katherine shake hands and a cold, angry look on Derek’s face that Stiles has never seen before.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Exes, huh? Stiles is determined to help Derek kick the Blue Lions’ asses to the proverbial curb. Something about Princess Katherine’s smirk makes him think he’s being stabbed when she shakes his hand. He wipes it off surreptitiously on his pants.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek must see him doing it, because he smiles a little bit.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Yeah, Stiles is definitely going to help destroy Her Highness.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Deaton, Finstock, and the Blue Lions professor that Stiles has never met before usher the three houses into three sections of the valley. The Black Eagles are positioned across a stream from the main battlefield, which makes Stiles feel a little better; no one is going to be rushing him from strange angles, anyway.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>There’s a ballista in the middle of the valley, on a little raised platform, and Stiles can already see the importance of it strategically.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek makes eye contact with him and nods. “Allison first, as close to it as you can, then me so I can protect her.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Got it, boss,” Stiles replies, lazily saluting.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek cuffs the back of Stiles’ head, but the pinched look on his face relaxes a little.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“The enemy bases are pretty far,” Stiles muses. “And the Blue Lions are known for their archers. Erica and Scott have to avoid being shot down over there, so they should probably go after the Golden Deer, right?” When Derek nods, he continues, “so, after we secure the ballista, should I Warp you over to the Lions’ base?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek looks calculating. “We’ll see when we get there. The main thing I’m concerned about is Kate. Her magic is strong enough to overwhelm my defenses.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles hums to himself. “You should bring Boyd.” When Derek quirks an eyebrow, Stiles sheepishly explains, “he’s more resistant to my Warping than anyone besides Scott. Can’t get anything over on the guy. I figure it’s probably true for other magic too?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek nods. “Isaac and Cora can intercept stragglers for you and Allison. The enemy seems to be grouped on the other side of the platform from us, and I’d be surprised if they didn’t try to retake the ballista.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles claps a hand to Derek’s shoulder. “Sounds like a plan.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek looks at Stiles’ hand on his shoulder and then at Stiles, and Stiles immediately lets go.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Sorry, sorry, my bad.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>The first part of the battle goes about as smoothly as Stiles could hope, all things considered. He Warps Allison directly onto the ballista, surprising himself with his range, and she takes out the flying soldiers without breaking a sweat. Scott has a look somewhere between fear and devotion on his face.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>The Golden Deer, mostly made up of fliers and mages, get completely swept by Scott and Erica once Allison is done turning them into pincushions.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>The only snag is when Jackson appears on the platform with Allison and Stiles, having completely ignored Scott and Erica and headed straight there. He’s so close Stiles can smell his wyvern’s disgusting breath as he scrambles back on the ground.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Isaac manages to get between them, holding Jackson off long enough for Allison to just shoot him down.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>It’s kind of glorious.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek, once he’s Warped into the Lions’ ranks, just goes to town. His axe shines with every swing, polished to a mirror the night before, and it’s kind of mesmerizing. They don’t even notice that Boyd is with him until the guy has speared through their only black mage besides the Princess, leaving Derek free to cut down their forces like grass.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>The real problem comes when Princess Katherine takes the field. Derek has his back to her, probably an intentional ploy on her soldiers’ part to draw his attention away from her, and she begins to chant a spell Stiles has never seen before.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Cora swears under her breath. “Meteor. She’s going to hit her allies and Derek too, the bitch.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles feels a moment of panic. He’d been so caught up in watching Derek kick ass, the guy had seemed practically invulnerable, but Stiles had forgotten about magic.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>He focuses on Derek, imagining the space between them disintegrating in an instant, and <em>yanks</em>.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>He’s not really expecting to impart any amount of momentum with the spell, so when Derek tumbles into him, he just falls unceremoniously over.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek must have landed on top of Stiles, because they’re on the ground face to face, chest to chest, panting slightly.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Why’d you Warp me?” Derek asks without getting off of Stiles.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>It’s a nice kind of weight, so it’s not like he’s really complaining. “Her Bitchiness,” Stiles says. “Was gonna hurt you.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek has <em>really</em> pretty eyes, Stiles realizes while he’s under the guy. They look gray from afar, but up close they’re pale green edging on blue. He doesn’t blame himself for the lack of his usual gab.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek nods without breaking eye contact. “Can you get me back out there?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles makes a face. “If I have to, but I won’t be able to do anything else for the rest of the fight.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek smiles ever so slightly and shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll walk.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles doesn’t remember that they aren’t the only ones there until Cora is kicking her brother off of Stiles and onto the ground. “Are you lovebirds done? Boyd already beat Kate, so we won.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek sits up, but Stiles is so exhausted teleporting everyone around that he decides to just lay there for a while. No one can blame him right? They won, after all.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>He feels a hand squeeze his shoulder, and when he looks up, Derek is grinning at him. “We did it,” he says softly. “You did good.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Right back atcha, big guy.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek and Scott help him stand up and hobble over to where all three houses are gathered. Professor Deaton smiles at him and it might be the high of winning, but Stiles doesn’t even mind that it’s the smug, enigmatic Deaton smile.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“The winners of this year’s Battle of the Eagle and Lion are… the Black Eagles!” Finstock shouts.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek stands up to accept the prize - an ornate medal - but Deaton hands him something else too.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“For defeating the most soldiers out of the three houses, the Black Eagles will also receive these.” He holds a pair of boots up for the crowd to see.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Some ratty shoes?” Stiles asks incredulously.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>It must have been loud enough for Deaton to hear, because he glares at Stiles before continuing, “the Swiftsoles are an important magical item, worth an unimaginable amount to a professional soldier. Archbishop Christopher himself bade me to give these to the winners.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Expensive shoes are still shoes, but Stiles figures they must have some value that he doesn’t understand. Derek handles them gingerly as he makes his way down the stage and back to the Black Eagles.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>When they gather in the tent afterward, Derek smirks at Stiles and drops the medal over his head. “You won this for us, it might as well be yours.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles is sure he must be blushing by the heat of his face, but he can’t think of a response before Scott is tackling him and exclaiming about how good he was. As more of them trickle in, everyone stops by Stiles to pat him on the shoulder or say something nice or, in Cora’s case, pat him condescendingly on the head and call him a good boy.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>He can’t bring himself to care. Derek is looking proudly at him and everyone is saying nice things and Stiles feels like he must be on cloud nine. This must have been what he was missing, with the Golden Deer. He suspects it’s what the Black Eagles we’re missing before he came: a sense of family.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>When they’re getting ready to go back to the monastery, Derek pulls Stiles into his carriage. It’s not really any nicer than the one he rode that morning, but he still feels a little thrill as he enters it.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek hands him the shoes when he sits down. “Put them on.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Uh, why? Deaton didn’t even say what they did.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“They’re carrying an enchantment that will make you run faster. We need you to keep up with us.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>From anyone else, those words would sound like judgment, but Derek doesn’t look frustrated. He leans back and watches as Stiles clumsily fits them on his feet.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Uh,” Stiles says as the shoes begin to melt into his skin. “Uh, what? Are they supposed to do that?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Before Derek can answer his question, the shoes are gone, leaving his feet bare.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I said they carry an enchantment,” Derek says smugly, “not that you have to wear them to be affected by it. We can test it tomorrow morning, but it should be much easier to run.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Well, uh, thanks,” Stiles says. “Do you want me to -“ he points to the door.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“You can stay,” Derek says magnanimously. “Plus, we have to give Deaton a report tomorrow anyway, I figured we could work on it now, if that’s okay.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Ah, I get it, just using me for my incredible intellect. Buttering me up so I won’t question it. Your tricks won’t work on me.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek rolls his eyes, but Stiles doesn’t miss the little twitch of his lips.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>And if they sit next to one another on the way back? Well, they need to compare notes, that’s all.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p><strong>Derek B+</strong>

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek is stretched out on Stiles’ bed, shirt partially unbuttoned and sweating all over Stiles’ sheets.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles would kick him off if he had the energy to move.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Fuck summer, seriously.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles isn’t quite sure why Derek is even here. They’re not working on classwork - it’s too damn hot - and Stiles didn’t invite him. It’s not even a strange sight, considering he’s been spending more time with Derek than he has with <em>Scott</em> recently. Derek had barged in without knocking and fallen down on Stiles bed two hours ago and then just… stayed there.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>The heat must be messing with the guy’s brain.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“You never explained,” Derek says. Stiles wishes he had the knowledge of black magic needed to summon some kind of cooling wind into the room. He knows the runes, the problem is his ability to manifest the power -

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Something hits Stiles’ head softly and then falls to the floor. When Stiles turns his neck - unwilling to shift his body around in the chair - he has the distinct feeling it’s Prince Fancypants’ neckerchief thing.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Did you just throw your dumb scarf at me?” Stiles asks incredulously.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“You never explained,” Derek repeats. “Why Deaton recruited you.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles lets out an explosive sigh. “Are you regretting it? Because I’m pretty sure Lydia included a ‘no take-backsies’ clause when she got rid of me.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Never said that,” Derek grumbles. “Just curious.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles tries to summon the higher function necessary to remember the conversation Derek is talking about. Which he’s sure mostly looks like him sweating in place for two minutes with a blank expression on his face.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Do you remember that conversation we had about strength? Where I said your sister was the strongest person in your army?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Yeah, I guess.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“If strength is being able to defeat your enemies, then you can subdivide that into ‘current ability’ and ‘capacity for growth.’ People can grow in the middle of battles, or they can run away to fight again. Either way, a person who has a lot of room to grow is, in the long run, stronger because of it.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Sure.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Well, I mean, the point was to get you to think about strength as more than just what appears on the surface. But even more than capability and growth, the thing that determines an army’s strength is their ability to work together. An army with lower capability and growth can beat one with higher if they coordinate well and the enemy doesn’t.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Isn’t that just battle strategy?” Derek asks.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“‘The best strategy means nothing if your soldiers can’t follow through on it,’” Stiles quotes.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Is that from Deaton?” Derek asks dryly.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“My dad.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>They sit in silence for a few moments.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Strategy <em>is</em> another part of strength,” Stiles continues. “But your strategy was fine before I joined. The issue was trust.”

“Trust,” Derek repeats.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles nods. “None of you trusted one another. Boyd was a foreigner without any friends, Erica was counting down the days before she died, Isaac was afraid of being beaten for any mistake, Cora was afraid you’d hate her for learning magic, and you were convinced you couldn’t be weak in front of them. The only one who was trying at all was Allison, bless her heart.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek doesn’t say anything.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I didn’t really know that at the time, though. I thought it was a strategy thing, or maybe helping you build character.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek scoffs. “Having to deal with you is one to build character I guess.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Fuck off,” Stiles says warmly. “I meant like, having to deal with someone who wasn’t going to take your shit. I didn’t realize that Deaton was actually hoping for me to turn this house into a family or some cheesy shit like that until our meeting last month.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“You do, you know,” Derek says softly, “bring us together.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>When Stiles turns his neck to look at him, Derek is staring at him intently. He turns away quickly so Derek can’t see him blush.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“It’s nice of you to say, but Deaton seemed to think I still have a long way to go.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I don’t think Deaton will ever be satisfied with anything less than perfection,” Derek says. “Don’t let that get you down - you’re important to us. To me.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek says the last sentence so softly that Stiles almost didn’t catch it, that it could have been a trick of the wind. When Stiles scrambles around to look at Derek though, the guy is blushing from his ears to his neck.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Ye - yeah. You - you guys are important to me too.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek smiles, a little thing, and turns to look up at the ceiling. “Fucking summer,” he says, and Stiles can’t help but laugh.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Fucking summer,” he agrees, content to watch Derek laze in his bed.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p><strong>General Stilinski C</strong>

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles has survived almost a full year of the academy without seeing his dad and, as impressed as he is with himself, he really misses the guy.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Since his dad refuses to come to the academy - ‘it’s too far’, ‘I have responsibilities’, and ‘who would take care of the county’ are code for ‘I’m embarrassed by fawning crowds’ - Stiles has taken the matter into his own hands.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>He even got permission from Deaton, which had cost him dearly. He’s never going to get all those nights grading first year papers back.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>But he did maybe conveniently forget to really talk to his house about it. Scott knows, obviously, because he’s coming back with Stiles, but everyone else looks mystified when he says goodbye.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“What do you mean, you’re leaving?” Derek says, looking a little heartbroken.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Goddess, I’m coming <em>back</em>, calm down,” Stiles says. “It’s just a week, to see my dad and make sure he’s okay.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek looks like he wants to insist on coming with, on keeping Stiles company on the road, so Stiles pulls him aside.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Hey, man. I actually kind of need a favor from you.” When Derek raises an eyebrow and nods, Stiles says, “I need you to take care of everyone here and make sure they’re all in one piece when I get back.” Derek makes a face but Stiles interrupts, “you know they’re a hot mess. Isaac could fall apart at any time without constant encouragement, Erica is still pining furiously for Boyd, and Boyd spends more time in his room than he does with anyone in the house.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek sighs. “Yeah.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I’m coming back,” Stiles insists. “I promise.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek looks away. “I know.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Good. Can I get a hug before I leave?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek doesn’t let him go for a solid five minutes, until Scott is yelling at him that they need to go to reach the inn before sundown. Even then, it’s only reluctantly.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I’ll miss you,” Stiles says without thinking about it. When he plays it back through his head, he cringes a little at how pathetic he sounds.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I - me too,” Derek says, hand on the back of his neck. “I’ll miss you too.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Before he can get on his horse and ride off with Scott, Cora puts a hand on his shoulder that makes Stiles wonder if he’s done anything worth being killed over. With Cora, it’s really a crapshoot.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Hey,” she says, in a way that’s not <em>not</em> furious. Though, she always sounds a little furious.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Uh,” Stiles says dumbly, looking to Scott and Derek for support.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“You should ask your dad about her,” Cora says. “When you see him.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>It takes Stiles ten seconds of confused silence to realize what she means. It’s been so long since that conversation about his mom, since Cora called everything he knew into question.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Y - yeah. I guess I will,” Stiles says, because regardless of what he <em>actually</em> wants to do, Stiles values his testicles being where they are on his body too much to say no to Cora’s face.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>He doesn’t even manage to bring it up with his dad until the last day home.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>He hadn’t been particularly subtle about dropping hints either, talking about the imperial siblings in his house and how good of friends they are.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>The Stilinskis have always been masters of avoidance.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>So it’s not until he sits down with his dad for dinner and out and out asks, “why didn’t you ever tell me mom taught the imperial family,” that he gets anywhere.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>His dad grimaces in response. “Wasn’t exactly relevant,” he says after a moment.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“And the fact that she died in the fire that killed the Empress?” Stiles asks. “The fact that there’s a statue in her honor in the capital because she saved the Princess? That wasn’t relevant either?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>His dad sets his fork down. “I didn’t know they made her a statue,” he says, voice soft.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Why do the Prince and Princess call her Lady Claudia? I thought you were commoners.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles’ dad stands, goes to the cabinet, and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. The good stuff he brought with him when they left the Empire.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“It was… complicated,” he goes with, after downing a finger or two from the bottle. “When they found out about us, she was practically disowned by her family. I mean, a child out of wedlock with a commoner?” He smiles bitterly. “It simply isn’t done.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Weren’t you a general at that point?” Stiles asks. “Not just any commoner.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“The von Gajos family is old nobility. No commoner was good enough for their only daughter.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Fuck,” Stiles says under his breath.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>He expects to be told off for his language, but his dad only nods. “Fuck.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“How did she manage to get a position with the imperial family if…”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“She and Talia - the Empress - were childhood friends. Plus, we didn’t exactly announce your birth to the world. Talia was the only one who knew.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“And that’s why I’ve never seen a palace in my life? Even when we were living in the Capital?” It’s hard to remember that time, not just because it’s filled with memories of his mother. It’s been so long, and he’s spent so much time trying to avoid his grief, that he can barely put together the inside of their old house in his mind.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” his dad says, tired. “We didn’t - we wanted to keep you away from judgment.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles considers for a moment. “Why did you leave?” Stiles asks. “When she died.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>At that his dad’s face takes a more panicked look. “I don’t think -“

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Woah, wait, why does that question <em>frighten</em> you? Did you do something? See something?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I can’t -“

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“You know I’m going to find out,” Stiles says, eyes narrowed at his dad. “I’m not going to be mad at you or whatever. Just tell me.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>His dad sighs, takes a swig straight from the bottle, and says, “you really can’t tell anyone. And not as a joke; if you tell someone, you’ll be putting them in serious danger.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles nods. “I - yeah. I promise. My lips are sealed.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I saw something,” his dad says, staring off into space with the bottle still in his hand. “That night. I had a meeting with the Prince-Consort about some Kingdom border skirmish, and I was waiting for Claudia to finish talking to Talia so we could walk home together. And…” he cuts off, covering his mouth with one hand. “I was checking the perimeter out of habit and I saw some girl carrying a bag. I recognized - it was the Argent Princess, Corinne or Karen or something, and she -“ his eyes are bright with unshed tears and it’s kind of freaking Stiles out, “she was lighting a fire in the stables. When she saw me, she ran away, but it was too late to stop the fire. It - it spread to the -“

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“But,” Stiles interrupts, “why leave? Why not stay and say something?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I tried to get people out, as many as I could, but your mother, she never… once I knew she was gone, and the Argent Princess was with the survivors, I knew there was no place for me there. I took you and ran.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“What the fuck?” Stiles says angrily. “You left her with them? They were kids! They were fucking kids and you -“

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“There’s a reason I never told you,” his dad says, words slurred slightly from the drink. “I’m not proud. I just - Claudia was dead and if I said anything, they might go after you, and I couldn’t - I couldn’t -“ his voice breaks. “You were all I had left. I couldn’t let you get hurt.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles closes his eyes and breathes heavily through his nose. “And that’s why you’ve been holed up here? Hiding this whole time? Even after the Prince-Regent took over?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Peter’s never liked me.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles is trying, he really is, to not yell at his own father. As furious as he is with the man, it’s not like he has anyone left either. They’ve survived as long as they have by clinging to each other and not letting go.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I’m… I need to go. I’ll be - I’ll say goodbye in the morning. I’ll be at Scott’s.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Stiles, wait,” his dad says, but Stiles holds up a hand.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I’m doing this so I don’t - so I can keep myself together tonight. I love you, I just need some time.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I’ll be here,” his dad says. “I’ll always be here for you.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I know, dad.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>When they hug goodbye, it’s more bittersweet than Stiles had thought it would be a week ago. He’s not sure if he regrets asking. What is he even supposed to do with this information?

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>He can’t very well tell Cora or she’ll kill Princess Katherine. Not that Stiles is opposed to the Princess dying, but he is opposed to a needless war. He needs - he needs to tell Derek. Derek deserves to know, and can be trusted to at least listen to Stiles about their next move.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>It’s decided. Stiles just had to tell Derek and everything will be okay.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p><strong>Cora B</strong>

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>So, it turns out telling Derek isn’t quite as easy as Stiles had made it seem, because as soon as he and Scott are back at the monastery, Stiles is informed that there’s a ball being held the next evening that Derek has to help plan, so Lydia refuses to let him see the Prince.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Really, it’s not worth risking Lydia’s wrath. Stiles will just have to wait for the night of the ball to see the guy.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Also, like, honestly: who the fuck throws a <em>ball</em>. Even if Stiles hadn’t been jaded about nobility and their usefulness, the idea of having a ball at an officers’ academy is just the height of waste. Who cares about learning to dance when you’re getting prepared to fight each other at war.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles keeps his thoughts to himself, though, because Lydia seems to be around every corner, taking notes, adjusting decorations, or yelling at some poor kid because they misaligned furniture.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Cora barges into his room the night he gets back, glaring at Stiles like he killed her dog.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“What did he say?” she demands, crossing her arms.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Uh,” Stiles hedges, stalling for time. “Who?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Don’t play dumb with me. What did your father say about Lady Claudia?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>This was not in the plan. He wasn’t expecting Cora to corner him before he got the chance to talk to Derek first.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“It’s private,” Stiles says. He glances to the door in the subtlest gesture he can manage to get her to leave.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Cora sits on his bed instead. “Just tell me. I’m not going to stop bothering you until you do.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles considers his options: 1) he can tell her about his mom and the Empress, hoping she doesn’t notice that he’s holding something back, 2) he can tell her that he needs to tell Derek first, hoping she’ll be patient, or 3) he can tell her about Princess Katherine and just hope for the best.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>He sets the last option aside immediately, because he knows Cora would make a scene. The second is tempting, but hoping Cora will be patient is like praying for a storm to leave your house untouched: the storm is going to do as it pleases regardless of what you desire.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>The first… isn’t great, but he’ll work with what he’s got.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“She um,” he begins. “Had me out of wedlock. So I guess that kind of makes me a bastard.” He chuckles weakly. “Her family was pissed, kicked her out, and I guess she was friends with your mom, so, she ended up with you all.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Why didn’t we ever meet you?” Cora asks. “We spent every day with her.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I… I spent a lot of time with my grandpa. Dad said they didn’t want to put me under a lot of scrutiny. Bastard and all.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“That’s bullshit,” Cora says, but for once she doesn’t sound mad at Stiles. “Why should marriage matter? The Empress isn’t expected to marry.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles gives her a look. “What do you mean?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“It’s an old custom, before the church introduced ‘proper marriage’,” she says, putting air quotes around the words. “The Empress has children with whomever and picks the heir herself. My mom was weird, in that she had all of her kids with the same person.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>His curiosity getting the better of him, Stiles asks, “why? Wouldn’t marriage be a useful political tool?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Cora shrugs. “Mom always said the Empress’s ability to lead her people was more important than anything else. I guess that way she could be with the person she trusts to support her and use her children in place of marriage to forge ties with other kingdoms.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“That’s wild. But, apparently not acceptable for the normal nobility. My dad not having a crest probably didn’t help.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“That shouldn’t matter,” Cora says angrily.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Hey, listen, I’m not arguing with you here. We’re on the same page all the way. I’m just explaining what happened.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Cora chews on a nail for a moment, looking deep in thought. “It makes sense. That she and mom were friends. She didn’t talk to mom any differently than she did to anyone else.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>The more Stiles hears about the version of his mom that Cora and Derek had known, the more angry he is. He loved his mom so much, looked to her for everything, but in the end the imperial family knew her better than Stiles did. If he weren’t a bastard, would he have gotten to see this part of her?

He feels like every memory he has of her is coming into question. When she told Stiles she loved him, did she mean it? Or was her love more reserved for a family that Stiles didn’t even know. When she read him stories at night, were they the same ones she read to Cora?

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>He cradles his head in his hands and tries not to cry.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“She talked about you,” Cora says quietly. “She said she thought we’d be good friends. I didn’t really have many friends back then.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Oh,” Stiles says.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Laura was always in lessons, Derek had some secret girlfriend, and the kids in the palace were afraid of me. I used to imagine running around in the forest with you.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles swallows.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Cora doesn’t move.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“We can be friends now, if you want,” Stiles offers. “Not really sure what we have in common, but you’re a cool person.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>He hears a little sniffle from his bed and he pointedly keeps his eyes on the floor. He didn’t know Cora even had functional tear ducts, and he’s worried that if he moves too quickly she’ll lash out like a cornered animal.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Y - yeah,” she says. “That’d be nice.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Well, my door is always open if you want to hang out.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles ends up helping her practice magic. He was right, she’d been learning from Lydia. But with the ball right around the corner, Lydia didn’t have time for Cora.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles doesn’t mind though. He manages to get her to crack a smile with a stupid joke while he’s teaching her a simple dark magic spell he knows, and he’s struck that the Prince and Princess both have beautiful smiles that are surprisingly hard to coax out of them.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>She stays the night, sleeping on his bed next to him like Scott does, and it’s a similar kind of warm feeling that spreads through his chest.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Friends, huh?

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p><strong>The Ball</strong>

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles’ feelings on balls haven’t thawed in the span of a day. If anything, before forced into the dress uniform he had to buy on entering the academy has made him more pissed about this debutante shit.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>He pulls at his collar while waiting for the rest of the house to arrive outside the building. The intense summer heat ebbed with the evening, but Stiles is still sweaty from earlier in the day.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>When everyone is gathered, Cora runs into the building - one of the smaller ones attached to the main cathedral - and drags Derek out by his arm.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles swallows. Maybe the dress uniforms aren’t so bad after all.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Where Derek’s uniform is normally plain and functional - except his absurd cravat and cape - this uniform is hemmed in gold braids, the cape ornately embroidered, and the whole thing is perfectly tailored. If Stiles had good things to say about Derek’s ass before, well, he was severely lacking in perspective. He wonders what those thighs would look like unclothed, maybe gripping Stiles’ hips and riding him like -

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles slaps his face with both hands. Goddess, he thinks to himself, get a grip! Now is not the time to be drooling, he has a job.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>But when Derek joins them and sees Stiles, his face breaks into a grin that makes Stiles forget everything else. He throws an arm around Stiles shoulder and squeezes, a little half hug, and says to the group, “wow, don’t you all clean up well.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Scott puffs out his chest; Allison pats his shoulder; Boyd crosses his arms; Erica looks at him like he’s water and she’s dying in a desert; Isaac smiles a little, more bashful than is reasonable considering his popularity with the girls of the monastery; Cora rolls her eyes; and Stiles flushes from his face to his toes.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Why are we even having this ball?” Cora complains. “It’s the middle of summer.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“You mean Lydia hasn’t painstakingly explained it to you a hundred times already?” Stiles asks. “It’s the anniversary of the founding of the church. It’ll be the Millennium Festival five years from now, where they’ll probably throw an even bigger, gaudier, uglier ball.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Allison is bright eyed. “Five years, huh?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Let’s come back,” Boyd says, and it takes everyone by surprise. “Five years from now.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Cora makes a face. “To some shitty ball? Hell no.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Hey!” Scott says. He turns to Boyd, saying, “I think it’s a great idea. No matter where we are, whatever is happening, we’ll come back and see each other.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“A reunion, huh?” Erica looks like she’s holding back a smile. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles looks over at Derek, who was already looking at him. “It’s a promise,” he says.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Well, if the boss says it’s a promise, I guess there’s no choice in the matter,” Stiles says with a shrug.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Isaac is the one who responds. “We all know you want to come back the most out of all of us, you don’t have to pretend.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Sh - shut up!” Stiles says indignantly while the rest of his friends laugh at him. “Screw you chumps, like I’d come back here to see you.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>No one takes him seriously, though. They all know he will, regardless of what he says.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Come on,” Derek says, head turned so it’s mostly in Stiles’ ear, “lets go dance.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>If he had fantasized about this moment - and he hadn’t! - Stiles is man enough to admit that this is where Derek would sweep him off his feet and dance with him all night long, caught up in one another.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Of course, fantasy and reality are different beasts for a reason. Derek is immediately pulled away by someone asking him to dance, practically dragged off of Stiles, and it’s all he can do to look back and give an apologetic grimace.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles sighs. He should have expected this; Derek is far and away the hottest person at the academy. Of course everyone would want to dance with the handsome, dashing Prince. Of course he wouldn’t want to futz around with Stiles, who doesn’t even know how to dance.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Still, the heavy, gutted feeling in the pit of his stomach doesn’t relent while he stands at the side of the room, not even one person asking him to dance, and watches Derek spin through an endless number of girls.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>It’s fine.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Cora comes over and finds him after an hour of bored sulking. “Why aren’t you over there with him?” she asks, nodding in Derek’s direction.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles shrugs. “We don’t - it was a nice thought, but I just don’t fit in here. Better not to get my hopes up.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“What the hell are you talking about?” she demands, turning to face Stiles head on. “You think he gives a shit about them?” She gestures to Derek’s horde of fans.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Stiles says. “I don’t even know how to dance.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“So what?” Cora lunches his arm. “He doesn’t care. He likes you anyway.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles looks away.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Who likes you?” Derek asks, panting slightly. Stiles didn’t realize he was heading over to their corner of the wall until he’s right in front of him, smiling widely.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Cora rolls her eyes. “What have you been doing this whole time, asshole? You just left him out here on his own?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek looks a little chagrined. “I was trying to get over here, I just kept getting waylaid. Give me a break.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Well, <em>Stiles</em> doesn’t know how to dance, so, maybe you should show him in case someone comes to ask him for one,” Cora says.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“It’s fine, Cora, it’s not a big deal -“ Stiles tries to say.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“What do you mean he can’t dance?” Derek asks, frowning. “I thought -“

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Cora must have had enough of this, because she grunts in frustration and pushes Derek into Stiles. “You two, go into the back garden and figure your shit out. I’ll distract everyone slavering for a piece of your ass,” she says to Derek.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek hesitates for a moment, looking between Stiles and Cora.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Come on, get out of here. I’m trying to be nice, don’t make me make you leave.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles starts pulling Derek away, not wanting to face Cora’s prodigious wrath.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>When they’re alone in the back garden, Stiles takes a moment to catch his breath before he bursts into laughter. Derek looks perplexed, which only makes Stiles laugh even harder.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“She - she just - <em>completely</em> walked over us,” he says through his laughter. “I feel like I just got trampled by a horse.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek laughs too, a warm sound that makes Stiles fingertips tingle with desire.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“You really don’t know how to dance?” Derek asks when they’ve both gotten themselves back under control. “I figured everyone who came here would know.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Raised a commoner,” Stiles says as explanation. “Not really much time for dancing when you’re working to survive. At least not dancing like this.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek pulls Stiles close to him, grabs his hand and places it on his shoulder. He takes Stiles’ other hand in his, grips his hip firmly, and begins to move.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>To say that it’s easy would be, perhaps, unfair.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles is pretty sure Derek’s toes are going to be bruised to shit tomorrow, even through his fancy schmancy boots.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek tries to give him pointers about matching his timing to the song, where to move his feet, and how close together they should stand, but it’s really no help at all.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>But Stiles doesn’t care, because Derek is looking into his eyes with the softest, sweetest look Stiles has ever seen on him. He kind of wants to stay like this forever, if he could.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I have to tell you something,” he blurts out after a few minutes, because Stiles can’t help ruining things. “Important. Can we go somewhere more private?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>He feels like shit for ruining the nice moment, but if he puts off talking to Derek about the fire any longer, he’s pretty sure he’ll die of anxiety.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek doesn’t look too put off, though. He just nods, takes Stiles' hand, and heads towards the tallest spire in the cathedral.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>When they reach the top, Stiles is mostly just trying to get his stomach in order. It’s not that heights frighten him so much as hitting the ground does, and this tower is far taller than it has any right to be.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Thankfully, the tower room doesn’t actually have any windows in it.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek looks around it, smiling wistfully. “This place was important to my parents,” he admits. “My mom met my dad here.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Stiles swallows nervously. It seems the change of scenery has backfired, because now he feels even less comfortable telling Derek what he knows. He doesn’t want to ruin this place.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“What did you want to tell me?” Derek asks.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Uh,” Stiles says. “Fuck. I went home, right?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“... right,” Derek says, looking a little confused.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Cora told me to talk to my dad about - about my mom. I didn’t know that she, you know, even worked with your family, let alone that she died in the - anyway. I went home to ask my dad about it. And why he left.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek’s confused eyebrows are furrowing into his concerned eyebrows but Stiles can’t stop until he gets everything out.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“He said - I don’t know if you’ll believe this, but he said that he saw the person who set the fire. That night.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek’s face pales. He leans back hard against the wall. Stiles reaches out a hand to touch his shoulder, but keeps it there hovering rather than close the distance.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“He said it was - it was Princess Ka -“

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I know who it was,” Derek interrupts, looking down at his feet. “I know.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Oh.” It only takes a few moments of thinking - Katherine is Derek’s bitter ex, according to rumors, and they must have dated around the time that the fire happened, and she was the one who - “oh fuck. Oh my Goddess.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Yeah.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Oh my - holy shit.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek looks more concerned for Stiles now. “Are you okay?” he asks.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Am <em>I</em> okay? Are <em>you</em> okay? You have to go to school with the woman who killed your family and pretend everything is fine, like she’s right there and you can’t do -“

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek pulls Stiles into a hug. “It was -“ he stutters for a moment, “it was my fault. I let her in. I shouldn’t have -“

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Oh my Goddess, shut the fuck up before I punch you in your stupidly gorgeous face, what is wrong with you?” Stiles says furiously. “I’m gonna make her pay. I’ll - I can’t believe - how could she <em>do</em> that?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
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</p><p>Rather than answer, Derek pulls Stiles tighter against his chest.

</p><p>
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</p><p>“Has she hurt anyone else?” Stiles asks. “Since?”

</p><p>
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</p><p>“Not as high profile.”

</p><p>
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</p><p>“And you can’t go after her? Nevermind, stupid question, you probably can’t afford a war when the Empire is in such a precarious political position.”

</p><p>
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</p><p>Derek turns his face into Stiles’ cheek, his stubble lightly scraping against skin, and nods.

</p><p>
  <em>
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</p><p>“Well, as soon as you get the throne, you’d better come get me so we can kick her ass.”

</p><p>
  <em>
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</p><p>Derek laughs softly. It’s a gentle puff of air against Stiles’ ear. “You’re assuming I’ll even be able to get rid of you. I remember you saying earlier that there was a ‘no take-backsies’ clause involved.”

</p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>Stiles laughs weakly. “Yeah, I’ll stick to you like a leech. Or maybe a particularly crafty snake.”

</p><p>
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</p><p>Derek pulls back a little bit, so Stiles can see his face, and even if his smile is weak, at least it’s there.

</p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>He looks down at Stiles’ mouth when Stiles licks his lips and <em>that</em> is interesting to note. Stiles does it again, just to check, and yeah, Derek’s eyes widen a hitch.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Before we continue, I want you to know - I really like you,” Stiles says. “Not like I want to make out a little and be done, but like, I <em>really</em> like you. So if all you’re looking for is feelings free sex, I’ll take a pass -“

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
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</p><p>Derek covers Stiles’ mouth with his hand, fond expression on his face, and says, “I really like you too. Plenty of feelings.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
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</p><p>Stiles pulls Derek’s hand down by the wrist, and asks, “so, now that we are both in the know, maybe we can have extremely feelings-full sex?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
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</p><p>Derek laughs, leans in to kiss Stiles -

</p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>And an alarm sounds. There is the barest touch of lip to lip before they’re pulling away, cockblocked by a bell.

</p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>Derek punches the wall he’s pushed Stiles up against, letting out a little growl of frustration. “I need to go check that out,” he says.

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Hey, it’s cool, we have all the time in the world. We’ll figure out whatever is going on and then go right back to where we left off.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek frowns adorably, shakes his head, and then bounds off down the stairs. Stiles has to race to follow him.

</p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>When they get to the ground floor, Derek finds the nearest knight to find out the situation from.

</p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>“Scout is saying Kingdom forces at the front gate,” the guard says.

</p><p>
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</p><p>Derek swears under his breath. “They must be after Ally. I need to go -“

</p><p>
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    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“It’s fine,” Stiles interrupts. “I’ll find Scott and the rest and regroup. We’ll come back for you.” He pauses to think for a moment. “Do you know where she is?”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Derek looks around. “Fuck. She could be anywhere.”

</p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>“She would have been dancing with everyone else. Where would we evacuate to, in case of an emergency?” Stiles asks.

</p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>“There’s a… a side exit. It leads to a hidden path out of the monastery, in case of a siege.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Since when does Beacon Hills Monastery need to worry about a siege?” Stiles asks wildly. “Nevermind, not important. If you can tell me where the entrance is, I can Warp you there. I’ll follow behind on foot.”

</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
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</p><p>Derek nods and describes the four statues of the saints in the main cathedral. Stiles knows precisely where he means, and sends him over without hesitation.

</p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>Unfortunately for him, the Kingdom must have had a way past the guards, because Stiles comes face to face with three soldiers dashing across the bridge.

</p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>When they get close enough, Stiles Warps one of them off the side and watches in horrified fascination as he falls the entire way down, screaming.

</p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>The other two soldiers are on him before he has the chance to do any more damage.

</p><p>
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</p><p>The crack of a spear across his head is the last thing he hears before everything goes black.</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
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</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Homecoming</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Five Years Later</em>
</p><p>Just a little more. Just a little more and Stiles can rest.</p><p>His legs feel like they’re about to snap in half, but that doesn’t matter.</p><p>Just a little more.</p><p>When he crests the hill and sees the ruins of the monastery, his heart beats triple time. He’s so close.</p><p>He’s not going to be late.</p><p>If his horse hadn’t been shot by those bandits a month ago, he wouldn’t be so close to the deadline. If he hadn’t been walking since before dawn, he might sprint there. As it is, it’s all he can do to put one foot in front of the other.</p><p>Just a little more.</p><p>When he reaches the cliff where he thinks the hidden path is, it’s too dark to try to search around for it, but that’s not going to fucking stop him.</p><p>If he can’t get in through the side, Stiles will just go in through the front.</p><p>Even if it does mean an hour more walking.</p><p>The little village in front of the monastery, which used to be populated with pilgrims and those who supplied them, looks picked clean. It’s as if people have been through here recently.</p><p>Stiles doesn’t like it, but he’s not going to let something as trivial as enemy soldiers stop him. He’s still got the spear he stole from the town guards of the last village he stopped at. He’ll kill everyone in this place if it means keeping his promise.</p><p>Just a little more.</p><p>The gate, which used to be so proud and stoic, has been cracked in half, presumably by a battering ram or the like. It’s kind of horrifying, but Stiles doesn’t have the time to examine his feelings about it, so he simply walks through.</p><p>His legs really do feel like they’re about to collapse.</p><p>He’s not sure where to even go, where to find them, and he starts to panic when he thinks of missing everyone because he got lost.</p><p>No, that’s not going to happen. He slaps his face with the hand not using the spear like a walking stick, and keeps going.</p><p>He has two options, really: he can try the old Black Eagles classroom, or the tower he and Derek had…</p><p>He’s not sure if he has the strength to go to both, so he decides to climb the tower first.</p><p>He thinks Derek will check there even if no one else thinks of it.</p><p>He grunts up a step.</p><p>He refuses to allow himself to consider that Derek didn’t come.</p><p>The climb feels endless.</p><p>He promised.</p><p>Stiles considers Warping the final distance, but he’s sure that would have worse consequences than simply walking up the stairs. What if someone is hiding in there? What if he can’t move once his body and magic are completely exhausted.</p><p>No, better to simply put one foot in front of the other.</p><p>He can rest soon.</p><p>When he reaches the top, his heart feels a hundred times lighter knowing the door is ajar and he won’t have to try to pry rusted hinges open with his shivering body.</p><p>He’s not sure if it’s the cold or the exhaustion, but it could really go either way.</p><p>He peeks through the door cautiously and stops completely still. Fuck.</p><p>There’s someone inside.</p><p>He can either confront and kill this person, confront and surrender to this person, or go back down the tower unannounced.</p><p>He puts away the latter option entirely. His body won’t make it another hundred flights of steps. No point in even considering it.</p><p>He considers the second option. If he surrenders to this person, maybe they’ll be kind. When he hears himself thinking those words, he laughs. If there is one thing Stiles has learned over the past five years, it is that no one is kind to their captives.</p><p>Better to be killed than be caught in a cage again. Better to die than to live on in suffering.</p><p>So he grips his spear with trembling hands and Warps on top of the intruder, ready to strike.</p><p>When he sees their face, his spear stops a millimeter from their throat.</p><p>“Derek?”</p><p>He never even considered that Derek might get there before him. He also wouldn’t have recognized that this was Derek from across a room. It’s only when he’s up close and can see the man’s eyes that he knows for sure.</p><p>Derek’s eyes widen. Stiles has him backed against a wall, spear still at his throat, but he doesn’t look scared at all.</p><p>He’s smiling.</p><p>Stiles hears movement behind him, on the stairs, and a man calls out, “Your Majesty, we have reports of movement in the ruins. General Stilinski wanted me to make sure you were all right.”</p><p>It takes Stiles a moment to realize ‘Your Majesty’ must refer to Derek, the person he’s currently <em>threatening</em>, but before he can even lower his spear, Derek is calling out, “it’s alright Liam, you can tell him I’m fine. Tell him we found his son.”</p><p>His voice is unfamiliar, it’s so comfortable in its authority. It’s the voice of someone accustomed to rule, who expects the people listening to obey his commands.</p><p>But it’s still - it’s still his Derek, underneath that. Stiles drops his spear, fists his hands in Derek’s cloak, and cries silent tears.</p><p>He - he -</p><p>Derek wraps him in strong arms and pulls Stiles close against his chest. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs into Stiles’ ear. “You’re safe now. No one will take you away again.”</p><p>There’s a fierceness there, an intensity that Stiles doesn’t remember from their time at the academy. He buries his face in the warm fur of Derek’s cloak and lets go. He trusts that Derek will keep him up even if he doesn’t have the strength to.</p><p>Derek must notice the shivering of his body, because he takes a hand off of Stiles’ back and pulls the cloak around him so that he’s wrapped it in and still held by Derek.</p><p>Stiles considers falling asleep right here, in Derek’s arms, but he thinks better of it. He needs to know what has happened in the five years they’ve been apart.</p><p>When Stiles pulls back a little to get a good look at Derek’s face, he is struck by just how beautiful the man is.</p><p>His stubble has grown into a full beard. His hair is a little bit longer and properly styled, like he’s not wearing a training helmet every day to turn it into a sweaty spikey mess. He’s got a golden laurel on his head, which Stiles guesses must pass for a crown - he doesn’t know shit about this stuff.</p><p>He’s so - looking at him is almost too much. Derek’s eyes never leave Stiles’ face, like he’s drinking in Stiles as much as Stiles is he, which doesn’t seem fair, because Derek has apparently become the most attractive person on the planet while Stiles has been on the run, growing dirtier and grimier with each month spent on the road. Derek deserves someone better than -</p><p>No. Derek said no one will take Stiles away. If Derek is choosing Stiles, that’s his own choice.</p><p>Stiles looks down at Derek’s chest, embarrassed by the searching look, and almost laughs aloud at what he sees.</p><p>“You’re still wearing this stupid neck scarf?” he asks, smiling fondly as he pulls it away from Derek’s chest to look at it.</p><p>Derek does laugh, openly, and Stiles is too busy marveling at the sound, the deep timber that rolls in his ears, to be jealous of the fact that Derek still can laugh.</p><p>Stiles considers the timeline where he never got separated from Derek. Where they go into the cathedral together to find the students. Where he doesn’t get taken to the Kingdom as a prisoner and tortured for four years to talk about Derek and the Empire’s weaknesses.</p><p>He imagines a world where he gets to be as beautiful and unbroken as Derek is, and it twists a part of him in two. He didn’t know there was anything whole left in him to break.</p><p>He knows he’s crying, but he smiles anyways. In this timeline, the one that matters, Derek got to live. Derek became strong in Stiles’ absence. It doesn’t matter that Stiles is a broken person now, because at least he got to see this.</p><p>Derek looks a little perplexed. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“I haven’t been okay for a long time,” Stiles says. “I’m not sure I ever will be.” But he still smiles, because Derek is fine. Derek kept his promise.</p><p>Nothing else matters.</p><p>“Don’t say that,” Derek says fiercely. “You’re going to be okay now. I’ll make sure of it.”</p><p>He sounds as if he truly believes that he can single handedly defeat the ghosts that live inside Stiles, and it makes Stiles laugh a little bit. Just the slightest puff of air through his nose.</p><p>He can’t remember the last time he laughed.</p><p>“Maybe you will,” he says.</p><p>Derek pulls away enough to get a good look at Stiles, which allows Stiles to do the same for him.</p><p>Derek is - wow.</p><p>Stiles had spent so long fantasizing about that dress uniform, the last thing he’d ever seen Derek in, but this is -</p><p>His uniform jacket is red instead of black, with gold embroidery at the cuffs, the neck, and on the chest. There are two lines of golden buttons down the front and the shoulders have these little dangly threads that make Stiles want to play around with them. Derek has a couple of medals on his left breast and a white sash bordered in gold from his right shoulder to his left hip.</p><p>His pants are the same snowy white as his gloves and cravat, with a line of gold embroidery down the outer part.</p><p>And it’s all tailored to fit his body perfectly, showing off everything -</p><p>Stiles swallows. Even the cloak, as he feels it in his fingers, is a thick brocade silk.</p><p>Stiles is pretty sure the dirt on his skin is ruining Derek’s outfit just by touching it. He tries to pull away but Derek just clings to him tighter.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice full of concern, and Stiles doesn’t even know where to begin.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Stiles says instead of what he’s really feeling, which is <em>me</em>. He’s never going to be good enough for -</p><p>Derek pulls off his gloves with his teeth and gets his hands on Stiles’ face, gripping him tightly. “I’ve missed you so much,” Derek says, an aching fondness in his eyes, and if Stiles thought there wasn’t anything left to break in him, well.</p><p>“I’m not - I can’t promise I’m the same,” he says as a hedge.</p><p>“I don’t care. Whatever you are, that’s good enough for me.”</p><p>Derek probably has no idea how those words lance through Stiles.</p><p>Good enough for him, huh?</p><p>“You promise?”</p><p>“I promise,” Derek says, smiling warmly. His eyes flick between Stiles’ and around his face, like even still he can’t believe Stiles is here, and he repeats, “I promise.”</p><p>“I’ll hold you to that,” he says weakly.</p><p>“You’d better.”</p><p>It’s not - it’s not the same. How could it be? But it’s enough.</p><p>“Do you want to go see everyone else?” Derek asks softly.</p><p>Stiles isn’t sure. He kind of wants to just stay like this, wrapped up in Derek, for the foreseeable future.</p><p>But he thinks back to his promise - not just to Derek, but to everyone - and sighs. “Yeah, we probably should.” When Derek starts to let go of Stiles and move towards the door, Stiles almost collapses, though. “I might need you to carry me.”</p><p>“What? Are you okay?”</p><p>“Kind of exhausted my body getting here. I’m not sure I could move my legs if I wanted to,” Stiles jokes.</p><p>Derek just looks confused.</p><p>“My horse died,” Stiles explains. “A month ago, in Whittemore county. Had to walk the rest of the way here.”</p><p>Derek stares at him. “Stiles, that’s almost seven hundred miles.”</p><p>“Yeah? Is that far?”</p><p>Derek swears under his breath. “It’s a good thing you’re so smart, because sometimes I worry you’re too stupid to function.”</p><p>“Harsh.”</p><p>Derek picks him up and bridal carries him down the stairs as if Stiles weighs nothing. Which, he probably does.</p><p>“I made a promise to a guy,” Stiles explains. “A long time ago. I wasn’t going to break it just because my horse died.”</p><p>“Oh yeah? Must have been some guy.” Stiles can see the corner of Derek’s mouth curving up into a smile.</p><p>“Yeah, he’s pretty special,” Stiles confirms, resting his head against Derek’s chest.</p><p>It’s a long way down, and Derek has to take each step carefully since he can’t see them, so Stiles asks partway through, “what happened to you while I was gone? I don’t remember you being so… fancy.”</p><p>Derek’s smile is flatter than Stiles would have expected. “Cora makes me wear this stuff for ‘army morale’. I think she just wants to torture me with my own station.”</p><p>“It looks good on you,” Stiles says sleepily. He’s not so tired that he doesn’t notice the way that Derek’s chest puffs up a little.</p><p>“Yeah?” he asks quietly.</p><p>“Yeah,” Stiles whispers, and that’s the last thing he says before he’s fast asleep.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Derek A</strong>
</p><p>When Stiles wakes, it’s in an unfamiliar bed. He immediately feels for his spear and panics when it isn’t within arms’ reach. When he cracks an eye to see where he is, he only calms because Derek is sitting at his bedside dozing peacefully in a chair.</p><p>He’s out of his fancy clothes and wearing just a white shirt and a scarlet vest. His head is tipped forward with his chin on his collarbone and his arms are folded across his chest.</p><p>Stiles can’t bring himself to wake the guy up, he looks so peaceful.</p><p>He also can’t really bring himself to get out of bed, though. When he tries to stand, his legs lock and he almost falls over on his face.</p><p>He lays back down with a sigh. If he can’t get up, at least the view is nice.</p><p>Derek comes to somewhere between five minutes and two hours later. Time kind of loses all meaning when you’re stuck in bed with nothing to do.</p><p>Stiles is watching him the whole time, so he gets to see it bit by bit; Derek’s eyebrows rising inexplicably, his eyes fluttering a little, his mouth opening to yawn, and the adorable little stretch of his legs that rolls up through his body until he’s dropping his arms and blinking his eyes open.</p><p>“Hey,” Stiles says, trying to hold back the embarrassing smile threatening to overtake his face.</p><p>Derek’s face softens as he says “hey” back.</p><p>They sit there in silence for a moment, just looking at each other. Stiles breaks it first, unsurprisingly.</p><p>“You never actually said what happened,” he says. “While I was gone.”</p><p>Derek grimaces and sits up. “It wasn’t - it wasn’t good.”</p><p>“I still want to know.”</p><p>Derek sighs and scoots his chair closer. “When I came of age, my uncle tried to keep the throne. It was - it got ugly. He’s gone now, though.”</p><p>Stiles puts his hand on Derek’s where it rests on the blanket and Derek’s smile is some kind of mix of pained and grateful.</p><p>“I guess you’re wondering about that night, when the Kingdom attacked,” he continues. “They were after Ally. Her dad - the Archbishop - is the former Argent Prince, and she has a legitimate claim to the throne through him. My guess is that Kate was trying to secure her position.”</p><p>Stiles sucks in a breath through his teeth. “They said - they said she died?”</p><p>Derek nods, looking down at their clasped hands. “Yeah, that night. It was - she was going to kill Allison.”</p><p>“Hey, hey, no judgment, dude. You did what you had to.”</p><p>“After - after we secured the students and the clergy, the knights evacuated out the hidden path. The Archbishop is currently set up in the southern church, in the Empire.”</p><p>“And we’re at war now?”</p><p>Derek nods. “They tried to invade the Empire at the same time as they attacked the monastery.”</p><p>“And you’re staging your counter offensive from here?” Stiles asks.</p><p>“Yeah. It’s the most defensible area in the region, it’s close to the border, and the Kingdom doesn’t have any fortresses nearby.”</p><p>Stiles falls into silence.</p><p>Derek hesitates before continuing, “were you - you don’t have to talk about it, but, what happened that night? We had no idea…”</p><p>“Kingdom forces captured me. They took me to the Capital and the - the King tried to get information about you out of me.”</p><p>Derek’s grip on Stiles’ hand tightens. “Oh.”</p><p>“That’s how I knew Kate was dead,” Stiles explains. “He wouldn’t stop - he was angry, that she died.”</p><p>Derek swallows. “I’m sor -“</p><p>“Don’t you dare fucking apologize to me for killing that bitch,” Stiles says. “Don’t - just don’t. I would suffer that a thousand times before I’d let her get her hands on Allison. Or hurt anyone else.”</p><p>Derek looks a little taken aback at Stiles’ words, or maybe the intensity of them.</p><p>“You,” Stiles tries again. “You did good. Killing her. Thank you.”</p><p>Derek nods. “No problem.” After a moment he asks, “so what happened? How did you get out?”</p><p>“I - hm. This is hard to explain. I kind of invented a new spell?”</p><p>Derek raises his prodigious eyebrows.</p><p>“I basically learned how to Warp myself. I bided my time until they thought I wasn’t a threat, and then I escaped. A soldier showed me a tunnel out of the castle.”</p><p>“Wow,” Derek says, and he actually looks impressed. “And then you came here?”</p><p>“Uh, no, that was like a year ago. I couldn’t get across the southern border, so I had to cross north into the Yukimura lands and then back down into the Alliance before I actually managed to make it here.”</p><p>Derek stares at him, open mouthed.</p><p>“The Kingdom really tightened border security,” Stiles explains, “especially after I escaped. It was kind of a shitshow, trying to find a way over here. I didn’t think I was going to make it after my horse died.”</p><p>“Goddess above,” Derek says. “You - all that way? A year of travel just to get here?”</p><p>“I made a promise to a guy. I wasn’t about to let him down,” Stiles jokes.</p><p>Before he knows what’s happening, Derek is on him, kissing the breath out of him. His lips are warm against Stiles’, his hands rough on Stiles’ face, and his weight against Stiles’ side is reassuringly present.</p><p>Stiles opens his mouth to comment, because he’ll be damned if he’s quiet, even if he is kissing Derek, but Derek takes the opportunity to open his own mouth and suddenly there are <em>tongues</em> involved.</p><p>Stiles is very interested in the tongues part.</p><p>It turns out kissing Derek is way better than Stiles had fantasized about. For one thing, he keeps making these unimaginable noises into Stiles’ mouth; moans, grunts, and, when Stiles puts his hands on Derek’s ass, an actual whine.</p><p>For another, Stiles can feel Derek’s dick pressed against his stomach and Derek isn’t shy about grinding it into him. Stiles knows he’s hard too because Derek’s thigh is doing lovely things to his own dick.</p><p>Finally, and most importantly, Stiles gets to <em>touch</em>. He runs his hands over every part of Derek’s body, feels his warm and solid muscles under his fingers, and the knowledge that this is real, that this isn’t just a fantasy his tortured brain has supplied him with, feels like a drug it’s so potent.</p><p>Derek comes up for air after a few minutes, hair in disarray from where Stiles has run his hands through it, and smiles at Stiles. “I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you in the tower.”</p><p>“Honestly not sure why you waited,” Stiles pants. So what if he’s out of breath, he can’t be blamed for the things Derek does to him.</p><p>“Had to be sure that you - that you still wanted it.”</p><p>“Of course I still want it, do I look like an idiot?”</p><p>Derek frowns and shrugs. “If you didn’t -“</p><p>“If I didn’t, I would tell you.” Stiles takes a good look at the guy’s face before saying, “I’m not doing this because you’re stupidly hot. Or because you’re the Emperor, although that hasn’t really sunken in yet. I’m doing this because you’re the dork who threw his dumb scarf at me to get my attention. You’re the guy who took a chance on me when you could have thrown me out of your house.” Stiles cups Derek’s face in his hands. “You’re the best man I know. Of course I still want whatever I can get with you.”</p><p>Derek buries face in Stiles’ shoulder. “Thank you,” he says, muffled by Stiles’ shirt. “You’re - I wouldn’t be half the man I am without you.”</p><p>“Well, then it sounds like we don’t have any problems then,” Stiles jokes. “Does that mean we can get back to the making out? I’m trying to make up for lost time and we’re five years late to this.”</p><p>Derek laughs, sits back up so he can kiss Stiles chastely on the mouth, and says, “in a minute. I need to tell your father that you’re awake or he’ll murder me.”</p><p>“Pretty sure not even General Stilinski can get away with regicide,” Stiles says.</p><p>“If anyone could, it’d be him.”</p><p>Derek kisses him one last time, gets off the bed, and goes to find Stiles’ dad.</p><p>The warmth of Derek’s lips lingers on Stiles’ skin.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>General Stilinski B</strong>
</p><p>Stiles’ dad looks like he’s aged ten years when Derek leads him into the room. He collapses on the chair Derek was sleeping in, pulls Stiles hand into both of his, and rests his forehead on them.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s more broken than Stiles has ever heard him sound before. “I’m - l -“</p><p>Stiles uses the hand his dad isn’t gripping like a lifeline to cuff him upside the head. “What is it with the men in my life apologizing for things that weren’t their fault? First Derek, now you? You haven’t done anything wrong, dad.”</p><p>His dad sighs, shoulders slumping, and says into their hands, “when did you get so mature?”</p><p>“Please,” Stiles laughs, “I’ve always been like this. Don’t you remember how I had to take care of you when mom died?”</p><p>His dad grimaces and Stiles hates that look on his face. “I’m supposed to be the one -“</p><p>“The Stilinski's take care of each other,” Stiles says solemnly. “It wasn’t a burden. You’re my dad, of course I took care of you.”</p><p>“Then - then you have to let me do the same.”</p><p>“Funny, I thought you were back to being a bigshot General, not my maid.”</p><p>Stiles’ dad rolls his red-rimmed eyes. “My son thinks he’s a real joker,” he says dryly. Turning to Derek, he asks, “how do you put up with him, Your Majesty?”</p><p>Derek smiles. “He grows on you after a while.”</p><p>“Like mold,” his dad agrees mournfully.</p><p>“Delightful mold!” Stiles interjects. “The kind you get cheese from.”</p><p>“He is pretty cheesy,” Derek admits, holding back laughter when Stiles throws a pillow at him.</p><p>Stiles catches his dad’s sharp look between the two of them, and he sighs. “Derek, can you get me a glass of water, please?”</p><p>“Of course,” Derek says, hurrying out of the room.</p><p>Stiles’ dad watches him go, expression thoughtful. “You really just asked the Emperor for a glass of water and he actually went to get you one.”</p><p>“Uh.”</p><p>“Hey,” his dad says. “I’m glad you two have each other. I didn’t really get it at first, why he was so upset that you were missing, but I guess…”</p><p>Derek comes back into the room then, glass in hand, and sets it down on the table next to Stiles’ bed. Stiles smiles at him and Derek leans down, as if to kiss, but his eyes alight on Stiles’ dad and he stops, startled, before quickly standing back up.</p><p>“Please,” General Stilinski says archly, “don’t hesitate on my behalf, Your Majesty. Far be it from me to tell you who not to kiss.”</p><p>“That’s code for he thinks you can do better than me,” Stiles stage whispers, and Derek frowns immediately.</p><p>“I wouldn’t - Stiles is - he’s very important to me. I couldn’t possibly find anyone better than him, and even if I did, I wouldn’t want them.”</p><p>Stiles just stares.</p><p>His dad must be having a similar response, because he doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I’m really not sure what Stiles did to make you feel this way -“ and holds up a hand when Derek opens his mouth to interrupt, “and frankly I don’t care. I’m glad that you two care about each other. That’s enough for me.”</p><p>“Good,” Derek says decisively. “Does that mean I have your permission to court him?”</p><p>“‘To court him’ - I’m in the room you know? Why are you asking my dad -“</p><p>“You have my permission,” his dad says over him. “If he’ll have you.”</p><p>“Come on!”</p><p>“Thank you, sir,” Derek says, leaning over the bed to shake Stiles’ dad’s hand. His other rests on Stiles’ thigh, which is maybe a little too forward in front of his dad, even if Stiles doesn’t want it to leave that position ever.</p><p>This disrespect will not do, though, regardless of how much Stiles enjoy’s Derek’s hand in its current position. One does not simply talk about Stiles Stilinski as if he isn’t in the room.</p><p>He pushes it off so that Derek has nothing to support his weight and the guy falls right on top of Stiles, elbowing him in the balls.</p><p>“Fuck,” they exclaim in tandem, and Stiles’ dad watches the ensuing argument with something between fondness and exasperation on his face.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Scott A</strong>
</p><p>After Stiles spends an hour reassuring his dad that he’s physically fine, aside from Derek’s elbow to his balls and built up exhaustion that he needs to sleep off, Derek finally relents to letting him see his friends. Apparently he was worried that Stiles would be overwhelmed, which is sweet but a little too much.</p><p>Derek even insists on being there with Stiles, which is where he has to put his foot down. “Don’t you have duties to attend to that don’t involve looking after your temporarily exhausted…” Boyfriend? That seems presumptuous. Lover makes him sound like an alien. “... Stiles?” he finally goes with.</p><p>Derek throws a guilty look at the door, but he says, “I don’t want to leave you here. What if you get taken again when I’m not looking?”</p><p>Stiles has to pull him down onto the bed to hug him with the necessary intensity to convey his feelings. “If I get taken, I’ll just escape and find my way back here. I’ll always come back to you, I promise.”</p><p>Although Derek looks a little bit like he’s about to cry at those words, he finally relents and goes to get Scott, the first person Stiles requests.</p><p>He looks older, which shouldn’t hurt Stiles as much as it does to realize. It’s the knowledge that he missed out on five years of watching his best friend grow and mature, getting to be there with him, that sends a pang in his chest. His once floppy hair is styled more like Derek’s now, and his eyes are a little bit less bright, but a lot calmer.</p><p>Scott doesn’t bother with the chair, just sits down directly on the bed. “Dude,” he says, conveying five years of feeling with one word.</p><p>“Dude,” Stiles solemnly replies, and Scott immediately falls onto him in a crushing hug.</p><p>“I missed you,” he says. “We thought you might be dead for a while, but Derek insisted that there wasn’t a body so you couldn’t be.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, I’d have assumed I was dead too.”</p><p>Scott, rather than sitting back up, just flops down next to Stiles on the bed. “I’m sorry that we didn’t come get you, man.”</p><p>Stiles punches his shoulder weakly. “Don’t worry about it. I got here, and that’s all that matters.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“So like, what’s up with you?” Stiles asks. He wants to ask about Allison, but he’s not sure if they’re even still together.</p><p>Scott holds up his hand, though, where Stiles can see a ring. He gapes at Scott. “She asked me,” Scott explains, grinning. “Not long after you were taken and the war started. We figured, there’s no time like the present when we could die any day. All the church people were down south, though, so Derek had to marry us.”</p><p>“<em>Dude</em>,” Stiles says emphatically. “That’s <em>awesome</em>.”</p><p>“Right?” Scott’s grin is infectious, like some kind of smiling plague. “We’ve been careful, but after the war is over, we want to try for kids.”</p><p>Stiles feels his eyes water. “You - you would be the best dad ever, Scott.”</p><p>Scott ducks his head and smiles bashfully, the bastard. Stiles wants to punch him, he loves the guy so much.</p><p>“I went through McCall county to get here,” Stiles says. “And they said your mom had gone to the front. Is she here?”</p><p>“Nah,” Scott says. “She decided she was needed as a medic, healing soldiers. Your dad was pretty pissed about it, but it’s not like he could really stop her.”</p><p>“Aren’t you worried about her?”</p><p>“Um, yeah, but if I stop and think about it then I’ll just get paralyzed. Better to focus on ending the war as soon as possible.”</p><p>“Wow, that’s… surprisingly mature.”</p><p>Scott shrugs with a little smile. “Derek talked me through it, when I was having a rough one.”</p><p>Stiles imagines Derek sitting Scott down to say that to him and his joy must show on his face because Scott’s smile turns into a smirk and he nudges Stiles’ shoulder with his own.</p><p>“I heard <em>His Majesty</em> carried you all the way down from the tower,” Scott says teasingly, and Stiles has to cover his face to avoid showing Scott how hard he’s blushing.</p><p>“Sh - shut up, Scott.”</p><p>Scott almost bends in half, he laughs so hard, and Stiles can’t say anything because the sound of his best friend’s laughter is a medicine he didn’t know he needed.</p><p>When Scott catches his breath and lays back down on the bed, he says, “you know, I think you’re good for him. He’s a lot better now than he was in the beginning, but he gets so stressed about everything. He feels like he always has to be in control. I’m glad he has someone who makes him take all of his responsibility off his shoulders.”</p><p>“Who the hell is saying I can do all that?” Stiles asks incredulously. “I’m not a miracle worker.”</p><p>“You already are doing it. I haven’t seen him laugh or smile in like, months. He seriously looks so much younger than he did before you came back.”</p><p>“... huh.” Stiles considers for a moment. “You seem close, closer than before - before I was taken.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Scott admits. “He’s close with all of us, but I wasn’t really willing to trust him until a few years ago. He started asking about you, stories of our friendship, and I was kind of freaked out until he explained your, um,” Scott coughs. “Relationship.”</p><p>Stiles stills. “Woah.”</p><p>“Yeah. He <em>really</em> missed you, dude.”</p><p>Stiles stares up at the ceiling in disbelief. He’d kind of assumed that they would be so caught up in the war that none of his friends would have even thought about him, even Derek.</p><p>“I wasn’t really expecting it to happen, but we kind of became friends, then.” Scott shrugs. “He’s a good man.”</p><p>Stiles nods, still in shock at this new image of Derek.</p><p>They sit there for a long while, the both of them, shoulder to shoulder. At some point Stiles must have dozed off, but Scott is still there when he wakes.</p><p>Stiles pokes him in the side and Scott almost falls off the bed he’s so spooked.</p><p>“Can you get me some food? I’m kind of starving, here.”</p><p>Scott laughs and agrees, scampering off before Stiles can even say what he wants.</p><p>Goddess, Stiles has missed this idiot.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Allison A</strong>
</p><p>A few days later, when Stiles is well enough to move about the monastery, he sits in on a strategy meeting between Derek and his major advisors.</p><p>Erica and Isaac are there in place of their respective fathers, who Stiles has learned sided with Prince-Regent Peter in the succession struggle and are now in Capital’s prisons, awaiting a proper trial after the war.</p><p>Stiles’ dad is there, in his capacity as General, and an older man Stiles doesn’t recognize sits uncomfortably beside him. He keeps shooting glances at Stiles, though they seem less hostile than curious.</p><p>Perhaps the most surprising addition to the group is Allison, but once he sees her in action, Stiles can understand why she’s there.</p><p>Apparently Allison is leading the forces’ flying soldiers, along with Scott and Erica, and, more importantly, the scouts. She provides the rest with detailed geographical and logistical information about their enemies as if it’s second nature.</p><p>Stiles watches in awe.</p><p>He figures it makes sense that she would be here even if she didn’t have such an important role to play; they’re fighting against her people after all, led by her own grandfather.</p><p>When Derek gets an urgent message from the Capital and pauses the meeting to write a response, she comes over to where Stiles is sitting against the wall and pulls him into a hug.</p><p>“I missed you so much,” she says earnestly. “Remember when we used to go running around the monastery? We should get back into it, when you’re feeling better.”</p><p>Stiles sighs. “I’m sorry - that sounds lovely, but please don’t expect everything to go back to how it was. I don’t want to build up your hopes just to crush them. I can’t promise that I’m the same person you remember.”</p><p>“I know,” she says. “I do. I’m not asking you because I want you to go back to being that guy, but because I want to get to know you again. I mean, that’s where we first started talking anyway right?”</p><p>Stiles tries a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds nice, then. I want to get to know you again too.”</p><p>Allison pushes a lock of hair behind her ear and smiles, and Stiles really gets why Scott fell for her, even if he does have a - a Derek that he cares about already. There’s something about her that draws you in and makes you want to see her smile again.</p><p>“I heard about my grandfather,” she says, face down turned. Stiles steels himself to have to hear another person say ‘I’m sorry’, his least favorite words, but instead she says, “fuck him,” with the kind of vehemence reserved for puppy kickers.</p><p>Stiles really hopes he isn’t the puppy in this situation. He’d much rather be a cool, adult dog.</p><p>“Y - yeah. He’s a piece of shit, no offense.”</p><p>“None taken,” she says readily. “There’s a reason my dad took me and left. It was - it was really bad, there. Grandad was trying to turn me into Kate.”</p><p>Stiles grimaces. “I’m glad he didn’t get you.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>The old man that Stiles doesn’t recognize stands up and walks over to them. He avoids looking at Stiles directly, and instead addresses Allison. “Your Highness, may I speak to Mr. Stilinski? Alone?”</p><p>Allison narrows her eyes at him, which is just about the last thing Stiles expects her to do. She turns to look at Stiles and he shrugs. “Whatever you need to say to him, you can say in front of me.”</p><p>“Princess Allison, this is a family matter -“</p><p>“All the more reason for me to be here. Unless you’d rather I go get his father?”</p><p>The man sighs and shakes his head. When he addresses Stiles, his body is still partially turned towards Allison. “Mieczysław,” he says with uncanny pronunciation. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Duke Mieczysław von Gajos. I believe you are my grandson.”</p><p>Stiles does his best to put on a polite smile. “And what is it you would like to speak to me about?” he asks, as if he isn’t talking to one of the most influential nobles in the Empire and also his mom’s dad.</p><p>Then again, Derek is more important than this guy and Stiles doesn’t have a problem talking to <em>him</em>.</p><p>“I simply -“ he flicks his gaze to Allison, “wanted to apologize for how you were treated, growing up. It was not my intention to - to alienate -“</p><p>“That’s kind of bullshit, though, isn’t it?” Stiles interrupts. “You kicked mom out when you found out she was pregnant. If it wasn’t your intention to alienate me or whatever, then it sounds like you never wanted me to live in the first place.”</p><p>“That’s not -“</p><p>“Plus, I mean, I lived in the Capital for almost ten years with my parents. Mom was working for the Empress. If you wanted to, you could have come and apologized at any time.” He pauses for a moment. “Mom never mentioned you once, you know.”</p><p>“I understand that she was upset with me,” Duke Gajos says. “After… what happened. But I don’t want that to come between us.”</p><p>Allison speaks before Stiles gets the chance to. “What do you want with him, Your Grace? Surely you didn’t come speak just to introduce yourself.”</p><p>“I - I was wondering if, perhaps,” he stutters, looking almost anxiously in Allison’s direction, “if you had inherited your mother’s crest.”</p><p>“Seriously?” Stiles asks. “That’s it?”</p><p>“It’s important to our family,” the Duke starts to explain, but Allison steps between him and Stiles.</p><p>“You’re trying to gauge whether or not it’s worth bringing him into the family. Why else would him having your crest matter at all.”</p><p>Stiles looks between Allison and Duke Gajos before settling his gaze on the man and raising his eyebrows. “Really?”</p><p>“Princess Allison, you know how important crests are to those of our status, I just -“</p><p>Derek has the perfect timing. He appears behind Duke Gajos right as the man says, “was hoping to find out if Mr. Stilinski had the right pedigree to be acknowledged as a Gajos.”</p><p>“Wow, way to make me sound like some kind of show dog, asshole,” Stiles says, grimacing. He stands and pats Derek on the shoulder. “I’m going to get out of here, I’ll see you later. Not sure how helpful my input will be without the right pedigree.”</p><p>Derek looks confused and a little hurt, but Allison meets his gaze and nods at the Duke, who looks at Derek like he’s the reincarnation of Saint Seiros herself - maybe because he thinks Derek agrees with him about crests - and Stiles really doesn’t feel up to staying in the conversation anymore.</p><p>He beats a hasty retreat down from the meeting room and out onto the monastery lawn, where his shitty grandfather can’t find another way to show him he’s not good enough.</p><p>Apparently Allison is done giving her opinion at the meeting, because before he’s even stopped walking back to the stables where he knows Scott will be, she finds him and stops him with a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>“You know he doesn’t care about that stuff,” she says.</p><p>“It’s not Derek that’s the problem,” Stiles says. “I’m not even good enough for my family. Everyone is going to look at me and think I’m not good enough for him either.”</p><p>“Since when does Stiles Stilinski care what other people think about him?” Allison asks. “Everyone thought that at the academy too and you proved them wrong then.”</p><p>“Maybe I’m just tired,” Stiles admits. “But I spent the last five years fighting to get here. I don’t want to fight just to stay here.”</p><p>“He’s the only one who gets to say whether or not you can stay here, and he’s not going to kick you out. And if he does, we’ll change his mind.” Allison pulls Stiles into a hug. “He’s not the only one who cares about you, you know.”</p><p>Stiles sighs but doesn’t try to remove Allison’s arms.</p><p>“You really helped me,” she continues. “I didn’t know who I was, besides what my father and grandfather wanted me to be. You showed me that I didn’t have to be held back by their expectations.”</p><p>“All I did was convince you to try flying,” Stiles grumbles. “Not that I’m opposed to ‘thank Stiles hours’, but…”</p><p>“You showed me by example. You were a crestless commoner from the Alliance, but you managed to worm your way into the most prestigious house in the academy and then rebuild it into something better. If you could do that, despite every expectation to the otherwise, then why couldn’t I do whatever the hell I wanted?”</p><p>Stiles shrugs in her arms. “It didn’t really seem all that amazing at the time.”</p><p>“It’s like running,” she says, and he can feel her smile against his cheek. “Just one foot forward, one after the other, but before you know it you’ve gone places you’ve never seen before.”</p><p>Stiles tightens his arms around her.</p><p>When they separate, Stiles says, “grandfathers, huh?” and they laugh weakly. No one knows how much it hurts as well as Allison does.</p><p>Derek comes over a few minutes later to find them sitting in comfortable silence out on the lawn. He pulls Stiles up by the hand and wraps him in a hug. “I’m sorry,” he says fiercely. “I didn’t know he would be like that. I can have him go back to the Capital, if you need.”</p><p>Stiles shakes his head, delighting a little bit in the feeling of Derek’s soft beard on his cheek, and says, “it’s better to keep him here, where we know his movements, than send him back and potentially let him scheme freely.”</p><p>Derek pulls away to look at Stiles’ face, eyebrows in ‘concerned mode’, but Stiles just kisses him.</p><p>“It’s okay, seriously. Allison helped me calm down. I’m sorry I left in the middle of the meeting.”</p><p>“I don’t care about that,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”</p><p>“I am,” Stiles promises. “Or I will be.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Boyd A</strong>
</p><p>Avoiding your own grandfather, in Stiles’ case, unfortunately also means avoiding Derek. The only time they get together while Stiles is staying away from the strategy meetings is at night, and although Stiles is an enthusiastic participant, he would really prefer to be able to see Derek other than when they’re having sex.</p><p>The sex is great! Stiles is all about sex with Derek, don’t get him wrong, but he is getting a little frustrated with the arrangement a week in.</p><p>Morning light breaks over Derek’s hair like a crown, framing him perfectly where he lays over Stiles’ legs, lips wrapped around the head of Stiles’ cock, looking up at Stiles like he never wants to look away.</p><p>It leaves an ache in his balls and his chest both. He wishes - he wishes many things, but in this moment, Stiles wishes he could pull Derek away from this. He wishes they could relearn each other’s presence, how to be around each other as friends more than just people who fuck.</p><p>“I’m going to come,” he says, voice breathy, and Derek just smiles around him. “No, dickhead, I’m going to come and you’re already dressed. I don’t want to ruin your clothes.”</p><p>Derek is wearing what Stiles has learned is his more day-to-day apparel, not <em>quite</em> as unbelievably gaudy, and in black instead of red and white. It warms him a little to think of Derek dressing up all fancy just to see Stiles at the Millennium Festival</p><p>Derek shakes his head the tiniest fraction and keeps moving up and down over Stiles’ dick, enveloping Stiles in wet heat and rough tongue. Stiles swears under his breath, let’s his head hang back for a few more pumps of Derek’s mouth over his dick, and comes his brains out down Derek’s throat.</p><p>The asshole just smirks when Stiles is over, leaning up to kiss him, before he stands up. His Jerkesty doesn’t even have the good graces to look like he just had sex.</p><p>“That’s not fair,” Stiles whines, covering his face.</p><p>“What’s not?”</p><p>“How are you so good at giving head? And more importantly, why did you time this so I can’t reciprocate?”</p><p>Derek leans back down and kisses Stiles’ forehead. “You can pay me back later,” he says fondly, and Stiles weakly hits his shoulder.</p><p>“You better believe I will.”</p><p>And then a page is knocking at their door, informing Derek that he has a meeting, and Stiles is left alone, on a big bed still warm from the two of them, come stupid and a little sad.</p><p>Rather than wallow in feelings he’d really prefer not to have, Stiles gets dressed and heads down to the soldiers’ camps where he knows Boyd’s squad stays.</p><p>Stiles goes to Boyd for two reasons: one, everyone else is probably going to be in stupid strategy meetings with Stiles’ stupid grandfather. Two, Boyd will listen to Stiles without judgment, unlike Erica, Isaac, or Cora. Three, and most importantly, Stiles misses him something fierce.</p><p>Once he’s actually down in the camps, asking around for Boyd’s tent, Stiles realizes his mistake: he had assumed that Boyd would be alone.</p><p>He’s not sure <em>why</em> he had assumed this. He is fully aware that Boyd is a captain, and captains tend to lead other soldiers around, but somehow that didn’t translate to ‘Boyd will hang out with his soldiers’ in Stiles’ head.</p><p>So when he finally finds Boyd’s tent, the man is there, but so are three kids hanging onto his every word with rapt attention.</p><p>Boyd is telling them of the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, focusing mostly on Erica and Scott devastating the Alliance students and Derek the Kingdom ones.</p><p>Stiles drops an arm on Boyd’s shoulders as he sits down next to him and says, “is Boyd telling you stories from school? He’s got this one all wrong.”</p><p>The three in front of him bristle and one, the soldier on the right, opens his mouth to speak, but Boyd interrupts by pushing Stiles off of the log he’s sitting on and laughing at him when he falls to the ground.</p><p>“You’re just mad that I’m right,” Stiles says, laying prone, laughing too hard to get up. “Stop filling their heads with mistruths.”</p><p>Boyd raises an eyebrow at Stiles. “And you remember that day any better?”</p><p>“Yeah, I do!” Stiles insists. “I was the one who helped plan the strategy.”</p><p>The soldiers are looking between Stiles and Boyd like they’re not sure what is happening.</p><p>Stiles scrambles back onto the log next to Boyd and turns to look at them full on. “Okay,” he says, “here’s how it really happened. Duchess Reyes and Scott McCall were absolutely pivotal in driving back the Alliance students, that’s correct, but Derek didn’t really do shit, and the most important player was Princess Allison.”</p><p>The three look at Boyd with a question on their face, and Boyd sighs. “When he says ‘Derek’, he means the Emperor.”</p><p>“Who else would I mean?”</p><p>Boyd rolls his eyes - hopefully fondly - at Stiles. “People don’t just call him by his name like that.”</p><p>Stiles makes a face. “I’m not going to go around calling him ‘His Majesty’ or whatever, it makes me sound like a tool. Plus, we had to deal with him during school, it’s only fair that we get to use his actual name in compensation.”</p><p>One of the soldiers, the woman on the left, has the courage to ask, “was His Majesty difficult?”</p><p>Stiles gives a belly laugh that almost has him falling off the log again, and Boyd gives her a critical look. “He wasn’t the man we know today, but this idiot,” he jostles Stiles’ shoulders, “had a complicated relationship with him.”</p><p>“That’s just a nice way of saying I had to deal with all of his bullshit while you all watched.”</p><p>“We didn’t watch,” Boyd argues quietly, “we looked away at every opportunity.”</p><p>Stiles laughs again. “Yeah. But I got interrupted midstory! Because,” he leans forward towards the cold fire pit and the three kids, “you know who defeated the Argent Princess single handedly that day? It sure as hell wasn’t ‘His Highness’ the Prince.”</p><p>They shake their heads.</p><p>Stiles claps a hand on Boyd’s shoulder. “<em>This</em> guy. I actually had to save Derek’s ass from getting turned to toast, and Boyd just went ahead and took her out himself.”</p><p>The three turn to look at the man incredulously, and Boyd scratches the back of his neck. “Captain Boyd,” the one on the right asks, “is that true? Did you really?”</p><p>“He’s just being modest,” Stiles says when Boyd is silent for a few seconds. “You could ask anyone who was there. Duke Lahey and Princess Cora were futzing around -“</p><p>“That’s a strange way to say ‘protecting your dumb ass’,” Boyd grumbles.</p><p>“Me and Princess Allison were in the middle on support, Duchess Reyes and Scott McCall were dealing with the Alliance students, so who was left for the Kingdom ones? Captain Boyd and Derek, obviously. Derek didn’t take them out single handedly, if anything he defeated like half of them. Boyd here got the rest, including the bitch in chief. Pretty sure Professor Deaton gave you a commendation during the house meeting that day,” he says to Boyd.</p><p>The kid on the right and the one in the middle sit with their mouths hanging open, staring at Boyd. The girl on the left just narrows her eyes shrewdly at Stiles. “Who <em>are</em> you? Everyone from His Majesty’s house is well known, but I’ve never seen your face before.”</p><p>Stiles is a little taken aback by the question. “That’s because I’m no one important,” he jokes. “I was their white magic support.”</p><p>“So, you healed them?” she asks.</p><p>“N - not exactly. I’ve never been good at healing.”</p><p>“Captain Boyd,” she says, turning to the man, “can you explain.”</p><p>The guy makes eye contact with Stiles and raises an eyebrow. Stiles shrugs.</p><p>“Like he said. White magic support,” Boyd says. “He was also our main strategist, along with His Majesty.”</p><p>“Your two main strategists were at each other’s throats?” she asks incredulously, and Boyd and Stiles make eye contact and laugh.</p><p>“In a way,” Boyd says, voice quietly mirthful. It’s a good sound for him.</p><p>“No offense, sir,” she says, “but what the hell does that mean? Were they or weren’t they?”</p><p>Stiles likes her. She reminds him of Cora’s intensity and focus.</p><p>“Come on, Hayden,” the kid next to her says pleadingly, and Stiles can vaguely recognize his voice.</p><p>Boyd sighs and looks to Stiles again.</p><p>“Like I said, me and Derek had a complicated relationship. It helped to have two strategists who weren’t afraid to disagree with each other and push for what they thought was the best outcome.”</p><p>“You weren’t afraid to disagree with the Crown Prince?” Hayden, apparently, asks. “And he wasn’t offended at being disagreed with?”</p><p>“He was at the start,” Stiles admits, “but it’s not good for a person to be surrounded by people who want to say yes to their every idea. I think he was relieved when I pushed back.”</p><p>“That’s one way to put it,” Boyd says dryly under his breath, and Stiles knocks shoulders with him.</p><p>“Then where have you been for the past five years? Were you <em>really</em> on some secret mission that only a white magic user who doesn’t heal could do?” she asks, voice full of suspicion.</p><p>Boyd bristles next to Stiles at her question, says, “Hayden,” warningly, but Stiles interrupts.</p><p>“I was kidnapped,” he says bluntly, “by the Argents.” It’s kind of refreshing to be able to say it without feeling like he’s going to be smothered in concern. “I escaped recently and only just got back to the monastery.”</p><p>Hayden’s eyes widen and she ducks her head. The kid on the right, who, now that Stiles looks closer, is the same brown complexion and the same closely shorn hair as Boyd, cuffs her.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Stiles says quickly, “I’m not mad at you or anything. It’s a perfectly reasonable thing to be suspicious of. Part of the reason why I wasn’t well known is that the Battle of the Eagle and Lion is one of the few battles Derek actually let me participate in before I was kidnapped.”</p><p>The kid in the middle asks, “why wouldn’t His Majesty let you fight?”</p><p>“At first? I’m pretty sure it was a pettiness thing,” Stiles says. “I kind of bullied my way into his house. After that? I’m not really sure. He probably didn’t want to lose his best strategist.”</p><p>“Sure,” Boyd whispers sarcastically next to him, and Stiles is sorely tempted to push the guy off the log.</p><p>“You bullied your way into His Majesty’s house?” the middle one asks. “<em>How?</em>”</p><p>“I knew their advisor, Professor Deaton, and got him to give me a recommendation, and things kind of snowballed from there. Derek was against me joining, but I just kind of… did anyway.”</p><p>“Wow,” the kid says softly, eyes shining.</p><p>“It’s really not that impressive,” Stiles laughs. “I promise. They needed an eighth anyway.”</p><p>Silence stretches between the five of them, the midday sun bearing down on their brows.</p><p>“So, I never actually caught your names,” Stiles says to the kids. “Besides Hayden, obviously.” He’s trying to keep things from getting too awkward, knowing Boyd will be no help on that front.</p><p>“Mason,” the kid on the right says.</p><p>“Liam,” the kid in the middle says, and <em>oh</em>, that was the one who almost walked in on him and Derek in the tower that night.</p><p>“Hayden,” the kid on the left says.</p><p>“Nice to meet you!” Stiles says brightly back. “I’m Stiles.”</p><p>“Stilinski?” Hayden asks, voice a little squeaky.</p><p>“Yup.”</p><p>“Are - are you related to General Stilinski?”</p><p>“My dad.”</p><p>She stares at him in awe. “Wow…”</p><p>Stiles shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I promise, kid, I’m really not that impressive.”</p><p>Boyd snorts a little and Stiles elbows him in the side.</p><p>Stiles, trying desperately to shift attention off of himself, leans forward and asks the three, “you want to know something really wild from our school days? I used to have to drag Captain Boyd here from out of his room to hang out with the rest of us when classes were over.”</p><p>Hayden and Liam roll their eyes. “Oh yeah, that hasn’t changed one bit,” Liam says.</p><p>“He got a medal last month and we threw a party for him and he tried to skip it,” Mason says, throwing an apologetic glance to Boyd, who has his head in his hands, looking like he wants the ground to swallow him up.</p><p>“Hey,” Stiles says, partly to the soldiers but mostly to Boyd. “It is what it is. I’m just glad he’s got people around him who care enough to keep pulling him out of his room, you know?”</p><p>Boyd actually shoves Stiles off of the log again and he can’t help but squawk indignantly. The soldiers across from them laugh, and Stiles is struck by the image.</p><p>He really is glad that Boyd found people who care about him. If there was anyone that Stiles was worried about most on coming back to the Black Eagles, it was Boyd. Knowing that the guy isn’t alone? Something in Stiles unclenches reflexively.</p><p>It doesn’t stop him from trying to tackle Boyd off his seat, unsuccessfully.</p><p>“What have you been eating,” Stiles asks, bent over the log while Boyd sits on his back, “<em>bricks?</em>”</p><p>Everyone is silent, though, and Stiles has no idea why until shiny polished shoes enter his line of vision. Which means someone important must be standing right in front of him. While Boyd is sitting on his back.</p><p>He slaps Boyd a few times until the guy gets off, before he can look up properly to see who it is.</p><p>“Come on,” Stiles says exasperatedly. “If you wanted to come hang out you could have just said.”</p><p>Derek stands in front of him, hands behind his back, smiling at Stiles softly. “I didn’t even know you were with Boyd until I asked around,” he says.</p><p>“Well, okay, yeah, that’s fair,” Stiles admits. He looks back at the people sitting around the fire pit and all three soldiers are staring at Derek like he’s some kind of natural disaster. “Hey, kiddos, this is that Derek character I’ve been telling you about. Don’t get worried just because his clothes are fancy, he doesn’t bite.”</p><p>“Not them at least,” Derek says under his breath and Stiles slaps his arm. The three soldiers look like Stiles slapped <em>them</em>. “Mason, Liam, and Hayden, right?”</p><p>They nod and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Look at Mr. Bigshot playing all cool just because he can remember a few names.” He turns to the soldiers, “don’t let him win you over so easily, he’ll get a big head.”</p><p>Derek laughs, wraps an arm around Stiles, and kisses him on the cheek. Somehow three pairs of eyes manage to become even wider than they were before.</p><p>Boyd laughs at their reaction. “You two get out of here, you’re turning my soldiers’ brains into mush.”</p><p>“What,” Stiles says indignantly. “I like them. If anyone, Derek should have to leave so I can spend more time with -“</p><p>But Derek is dragging Stiles away, arm still around his shoulder. Boyd waves goodbye while the kids watch in stunned silence.</p><p>Once they’re further away, Derek leans in to Stiles’ space and says into his ear, “I missed you all morning,” low in a way that shoots straight to Stiles’ dick. “Are you ready for that payback you promised?”</p><p>“Bet your ass I am,” Stiles says, moving on his own accord now, rushing back to their room in the monastery so he can press Derek into their bed and fuck him senseless. Or maybe ride him until Derek cries. He’ll have to see how he feels when he gets there.</p><p>He knows Derek will be up for anything, if Stiles is the one doing it.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Isaac A</strong>
</p><p>The thing about being woken up with your partner kissing you is that - though Stiles had always thought it was sweet - it’s not quite as nice when they’re doing it at the ass crack of dawn on a Sunday.</p><p>Stiles groans and pushes Derek feebly with his hands. “Stoooop,” he draws out, voice gravelly.</p><p>Derek trails kisses from Stiles’ lips to the little spot behind his ear that makes him go crazy, knowing full well that it will wake him up.</p><p>“S’too early,” Stiles whimpers. “Back to sleep.”</p><p>“Can’t,” Derek says. Stiles can see his smile when he cracks his eyes open. “Someone rode out from the Capital to have a meeting with me.”</p><p>“Oh,” Stiles says, trying not to let the surge of despair he feels leak it’s way into his voice. “Okay.”</p><p>It’s a fucking Sunday. Stiles had thought - hoped, really - that maybe they could spend the day just the two of them without distractions. That maybe they could talk, like they used to.</p><p>It was a stupid thing to hope anyway.</p><p>“I don’t know how long it will go,” Derek admits, laving his tongue on a spot that would normally have Stiles gasping. “Why don’t you sleep in? Maybe I’ll be back when you wake.”</p><p>Stiles knows he won’t. He knows how this works. “Yeah,” he says. “Go to your meeting, big guy.”</p><p>Derek sits up a little and kisses Stiles square on the mouth, looking at Stiles with an altogether unreadable smile.</p><p>And then he’s gone.</p><p>Is this what it’s like to be with Derek, Stiles wonders. He had thought a lot about the two of them, as he was traveling. He had imagined a lot of sex, sure, but he hadn’t known how much he would long for anything more than that.</p><p>The Emperor is a busy man, though.</p><p>Stiles sighs and climbs out of bed. No point trying to go back to sleep next to a reminder of what isn’t there.</p><p>When he leaves the room, Isaac is there waiting for him.</p><p>“Sup,” Stiles says, not in the mood for jokes.</p><p>“His Majesty asked me to talk to you about leading the white magic users in our army, organizing and teaching them,” he says, and Stiles looks at him like he’s an alien.</p><p>“His Majesty? Really? That doesn’t feel even a little weird when you’re talking about the guy we went to school with?”</p><p>Isaac cracks a grin and shrugs. “Sometimes I call him that just because I know he hates it.”</p><p>“Goddess, you’re devious,” Stiles says, laughing.</p><p>Isaac motions for Stiles to follow him. “I won’t assume that you’re agreeing to help with the white magic battalion yet, but I thought we might walk down there and see them.”</p><p>Stiles follows in silence for a minute, letting his brain warm up to the idea of being conscious, before it hits him and he says, “were you just waiting outside our room? What if I went back to sleep and you were stuck there for a few hours?”</p><p>“I’d have woken you up before then,” Isaac says dryly.</p><p>“Dude, I take it back, you’re not devious, you’re just actually a demon.”</p><p>Isaac laughs, a little thing, and something in Stiles’ chest that had wound tight in disappointment at the morning’s events relaxes at the sound. He hasn’t heard Isaac laugh like that since school, since he watched him and Erica conspire to push Derek into the fishing pond.</p><p>“What’s it like?” Stiles asks. “Being the Duke and all? With your dad in jail.”</p><p>Isaac turns back to make eye contact with Stiles, as if he’s trying to understand what Stiles means by the question.</p><p>“Is it hard?” Stiles follows up.</p><p>“It’s not easy,” Isaac says after a few moments, looking forward so all Stiles can see is the back of his head. “Having all this power… sometimes I can see how he could become the kind of man he did.”</p><p>Stiles puts a hand on Isaac’s shoulder from behind, and to his complete astonishment, Isaac doesn’t even flinch. He looks back to Stiles and his smile is small, but the fact that he can make it at all is reassuring.</p><p>“He deserves to be dead, for what he did to you,” Stiles says fiercely.</p><p>Isaac stops walking entirely, and Stiles almost runs into him from behind.</p><p>“Don’t,” Isaac says, not meeting Stiles’ gaze. “Don’t say that.”</p><p>“You deserve better than him.”</p><p>Isaac gives Stiles a sardonic look. “We only get what we are given.”</p><p>“Fuck that,” Stiles says fiercely. “Fuck all of that. He’s less of a father to you than Deaton is. You don’t need him to have a family, everyone here loves you like a brother. You deserve <em>better</em>.”</p><p>Isaac’s smile falters and he sucks in a breath. He looks away from Stiles, at his feet and then out to the edge of the monastery grounds that they’re walking towards.</p><p>“I miss him, sometimes,” Isaac says, and quickly follows up with, “my brother. It was better when he was there. Sometimes he stood up for me.”</p><p>Stiles stands patiently, unmoving, waiting for Isaac to continue.</p><p>“Sometimes he just watched, though. I think he didn’t know that we could have anything better. And then he died.”</p><p>Stiles nods.</p><p>Isaac starts walking again, and Stiles scrambles to follow.</p><p>“Anyone would be proud to have you as a son,” Stiles says when he catches up. “And I would be proud to call you my brother.”</p><p>Isaac stops again, and this time Stiles does run into his back. He falls on the grass, still wet with dew, and watches Isaac look down at him.</p><p>Isaac reaches a hand down to help Stiles up, and when he gets him standing, pulls him into a hug.</p><p>“I’d like that,” he says softly against Stiles’ collarbone. It’s the kind of vulnerability that Stiles has rarely seen from Isaac, the kind of softness that is like a wolf showing its belly to another predator. There’s a danger here, in digging his fingers into something that might hurt.</p><p>“I bet Boyd and Erica would call you their brother too, if they knew it would make you happy. I bet Allison and Scott would do it. Even Derek.”</p><p>Isaac’s body is trembling in Stiles’ arms and the guy is bent over, head bowed, despite Stiles’ best attempt at hugging him.</p><p>“Y - yeah,” he says, all traces of sarcasm gone, voice nothing but sincere gratitude when he says, “thanks.”</p><p>“No problem,” Stiles says. “If anything I should be thanking you, since such a cool guy is letting me be his brother.”</p><p>Isaac laughs a little, the barest huff of breath and shake of his shoulders.</p><p>Stiles continues, “so, like, am I the big brother or are you? Or is this a twins situation? I’m pretty sure if anyone is your twin it’s Erica, though.”</p><p>“Maybe… maybe you can be the big brother?” Isaac says, voice wavering between vulnerable and the shield of cynicism. “Pretty sure you’re older than me anyway.”</p><p>“By like, three months!” Stiles exclaims. “It’s not like I’m old man Derek, here.”</p><p>“You’re practically married to him, though,” Isaac says, pulling back from their hug so he can wipe his tears on his sleeve. “You’re an older brother by proxy.”</p><p>“Wow, that’s very reassuring,” Stiles gripes. “Love to be Derek’s hanger on.”</p><p>“Shut up, you know you aren’t,” Isaac says, voice steadier and more assured than even a minute before.</p><p>“Ugh, whatever, let’s go see these white mages,” Stiles grumbles, pulling Isaac along. “As your big brother you have to listen to what I say.”</p><p>“Says who?” Isaac asks, laughing. “I didn’t listen to shit from Camden, why do I have to with you?”</p><p>Stiles stops, turning to Isaac, and fake gasps. “I. Am. <em>Shocked</em> at this level of filial impiety from you, young man. Your older brother here is slaving away trying to help you grow into a good and righteous man and here you are just <em>spitting</em> on all of my efforts. For shame.”</p><p>Isaac laughs and pushes Stiles with both hands, making him stumble back.</p><p>“I’m being <em>attacked</em> here, I cannot believe this. The Emperor will hear about this,” Stiles says in his best Duke Gajos impression.</p><p>Isaac almost falls over laughing, and Stiles can’t help but think it’s a good look on him. He wants Isaac to always be this carefree and soft. He’s not surprised that Isaac suggested he be the older brother; he really would do just about anything to protect the guy.</p><p>When Isaac manages to catch his breath, he pulls a straight face and continues moving towards what must be the white mages’ battalion, Stiles scrambling to keep up.</p><p>The main tent, larger than the rest, is already bustling with activity in the early morning. Stiles steps inside to find what must be a dozen people in the midst of a meeting. He waits quietly on the edge of the room until enough people see him and make note.</p><p>When the room quiets, Stiles smiles to the collected group. “Good morning!” he says cheerily. “My name is Stiles Stilinski and I’ve been asked to help organize and lead your battalion. Is this a good time to talk, or should I wait until you’re done?”</p><p>Eleven of the twelve people turn to look at the head of the table, where a middle aged man sits. The guy looks somewhere between perplexed and foaming at the mouth.</p><p>“Why would we need someone to lead our battalion?”</p><p>“You got me, bud. I’m just here because it was asked of me.”</p><p>“By whom?”</p><p>Stiles turns to look back at Isaac, who is idly cleaning under his fingernails. When he looks up at Stiles, he shrugs and nods.</p><p>“The Emperor,” Stiles says, turning back to look at the group.</p><p>The tent breaks out into hushed whispers, but the man at the head of the table just narrows his eyes at Stiles. “Stilinski. Are you the son of General Stilinski?”</p><p>“Yup,” he says, popping the ‘p’.</p><p>The man’s scowl grows further, and after a moment something must click into place, because it turns into a cruel smile. “There are rumors about you, did you know? That you and His Majesty are… involved.”</p><p>Stiles shrugs. “People say the wildest things.”</p><p>“The maids say you sleep in the Emperor’s bed each night. He must have taken quite the fancy to you. Do you think,” his voice goes a little lower, the hint of animosity bleeding through, “that just because you are being dicked by His Majesty that you have the qualifications to come in here and order us around? You’re just the Emperor’s little hussy who has gotten hungry for more.”</p><p>Stiles turns to Isaac. “How insistent was he that I take this job?” he asks, voice pitched low so only Isaac can hear.</p><p>“Very,” the guy says, smiling sharply.</p><p>Stiles nods and turns back to the group. “The qualifications, huh. Interesting question. Let me ask one in turn: who do you think the strongest white mage in the Empire is, good sir?”</p><p>The man seems to deflate a little bit, perhaps in confusion. He turns to the other people at the table, as if to ask if Stiles is serious, but they’re all looking at Stiles.</p><p>“I - I suppose it is Alan Deaton, in the Capital.”</p><p>“Do you know where Alan Deaton was before he was in the Capital? I’ll answer this one for you, don’t strain yourself. He was teaching here. In this very monastery. He was a professor to the Emperor, in fact! How fascinating.” He turns to Isaac. “Duke Lahey?”</p><p>“Yes Mr. Stilinski?” Isaac answers, looking for all the world like he’s watching a blood sport and taking great delight in it.</p><p>“Where did we go to school?”</p><p>“We studied right here, in this monastery.”</p><p>The faces of the people in the meeting have paled a little.</p><p>“Ah, yes, thank you. And, remind me Duke Lahey, whose house were we in?”</p><p>“The Emperor’s.”</p><p>“Oh! Funny we should mention him. And who was our professor?”</p><p>“Well, it was Alan Deaton.”</p><p>“Alan Deaton! Really. So you’re saying that I personally learned white magic from the strongest white mage in the Empire?”</p><p>“It would seem so, Mr. Stilinski.”</p><p>The man at the head of the table scoffs. “How do we know you really studied here? Or that you were even good?”</p><p>Stiles smiles sharply and stalks towards the head of the table. “My good sir,” he says, one step for each word, “it sounds like you’re asking me to show you a demonstration.”</p><p>The man nods, sneering, and Stiles puts a hand on his shoulder as if in greeting, and then he’s gone.</p><p>The table gasps collectively, and Stiles can’t blame them. He has learned that Warp magic is quite rare, even among the greatest white magic talents.</p><p>There is a distant yelling sound that grows rapidly closer. After only a few seconds, the man that Stiles had Warped comes crashing down through the canopy of the tent and directly onto the meeting table, collapsing it and cracking it in two.</p><p>“Fascinating,” Stiles says. “I was wondering if he would gather enough momentum to break through the tent, or if it would just collapse all around us. Good to know.”</p><p>The rest of the room stares at Stiles silently while he sits down in the man’s chair, crosses his legs, and waves a hand out.</p><p>“Please, continue,” he says warmly. “Imagine that I’m not even here.”</p><p>When the meeting is back in stilting motion, Isaac waves Stiles goodbye from the entrance of the tent and Stiles nods to him.</p><p>He spends the rest of the day getting to know the important figures of the battalion, the majority of whom look like they’re going to pee themselves when he greets them.</p><p>It doesn’t help the disquiet he feels, though. It doesn’t stop him from seeing it in their eyes when they look at him: the Emperor’s little hussy.</p><p>It’s not like they’re wrong, exactly. That’s pretty much exactly what he is, isn’t it?</p><p>For the first time since he arrived at the monastery, Stiles sleeps in his own room that night and not Derek’s.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Erica A</strong>
</p><p>Derek stumbles into Stiles’ room the next evening, dark circles under his eyes and looking, frankly, like shit.</p><p>Stiles raises an eyebrow from his old desk, still somewhat miraculously in working condition.</p><p>Derek sighs in relief and says, “you didn’t come. I didn’t know where you were.”</p><p>Stiles sets his book down on the desk and folds his hands across his stomach. “That’s true.”</p><p>“I thought you were -“ Derek can’t even finish the sentence. He looks like he’s about to break down, like the millwheel in McCall county after a storm. “Can I -“ He reaches out his arms to Stiles like a question.</p><p>Stiles stands and cautiously inches forward, but also Derek does is pull him into a crushing hug. He leans all his weight on Stiles until the both of them fall on Stiles’ old bed.</p><p>Derek pulls in long, shuddering breaths against Stiles’ neck, holds Stiles so tight that he can feel the guy’s medals digging into his skin.</p><p>“Shh, shh, it’s okay, it’s alright now,” Stiles says, petting Derek’s hair. “I’m safe, I’m right here with you. Everything is fine.”</p><p>Derek clings to Stiles’ shirt with trembling fingers, and only lets go when Stiles can hear a slight tearing noise. Well, there goes that shirt.</p><p>“What do you need?” Stiles asks. “How can I make it better?”</p><p>It’s not that he’s not still frustrated with being Derek’s hussy, because he is, but rather that Stiles has the unfortunate instinct not to leave a suffering person alone to suffer, even when he sometimes wants to. And hearing Derek fall apart like this makes all of his frustration and resolve melt away in the moment. He accepts that he’ll be pissed at himself later.</p><p>“Can I touch you? And you me?” Derek asks, voice very small.</p><p>Stiles begins unbuttoning Derek’s - jacket? Tunic? - while the guy is lying against him. It’s not an easy task.</p><p>When he does manage, though, getting Derek’s shirt, undershirt, and pants off is almost pathetically easy. The guy is infinitely pliant in Stiles’ arms, as if he’s completely given up.</p><p>Stiles pulls off his own shirt and Derek doesn’t wait for the pants to go before trailing his fingers over Stiles’ skin, as if memorizing the dips and curves.</p><p>Stiles finds himself tracing the tattoo on Derek’s back, which he’s never had much time to appreciate up close before, despite all of the midnight-tangoing they’ve done. “Is this a memorial for your family?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.</p><p>Derek takes a few moments to respond, as if he hadn’t heard or understood, but then he shakes his head against Stiles’ neck and says, “my crest.”</p><p>“The fuck?” Stiles asks quietly. “This thing is <em>huge</em>, how the hell is it a crest?”</p><p>Derek shrugs. “Most everyone in my family has it. I’m told it’s special.”</p><p>The irony of Derek, who doesn’t care about crests, getting the coolest and biggest crest is not lost on Stiles.</p><p>“What does it <em>do?</em>”</p><p>Derek looks away for a moment, as if considering if he should share, but eventually he answers, “it makes my senses better. Smell, hearing, sight, taste - all of them are significantly advanced.”</p><p>“How significantly are we talking here?”</p><p>“I can hear if you lie,” Derek says as if that’s something he shouldn’t have shared with Stiles earlier, “I can smell your arousal. I can see at night.”</p><p>“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes.</p><p>“It occasionally increases our strength in combat, but mom always said not to rely on it. It’s why me and Cora trained so hard in school.”</p><p>“Wait. Wait wait wait. You could smell my arousal. In school. When I was very, very aroused by you. From the start.”</p><p>Derek nods and pulls back a little guiltily. “I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to tell people what it does.”</p><p>“Are you going to get in trouble?” Stiles asks like an idiot, before remembering that Derek’s family is dead. “Nevermind, skip that question. So you knew I was into you the whole time, but you couldn’t act on that information because then you’d reveal your secret supercrest to the world. Also, hey, being able to hear lies seems like a pretty damn useful ability for a ruler to have.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Derek agrees, sounding relieved that Stiles hasn’t kicked him out.</p><p>Stiles thinks for a few minutes. “Were you freaking out because my smell was gone? And you want to touch me so you’ll smell like me? And me you?”</p><p>Derek nods.</p><p>“Hm. Shouldn’t there be stronger smell components? Like saliva? Or jizz?”</p><p>Derek stiffens.</p><p>“Oh. <em>Oh.</em> That explains a bit.”</p><p>Derek was having sex with him so much to make Stiles smell right. Not that that solves <em>any</em> of Stiles’ actual problems with their relationship, but it does explain some of them.</p><p>“Do you… need to have sex now? To make it feel better?”</p><p>Derek nods reluctantly, slowly, and Stiles almost laughs.</p><p>“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”</p><p>“I do want to, very badly, but I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to.”</p><p>Stiles sighs exasperatedly. “Let’s just fuck and get the guessing game over with. How do you want it?”</p><p>Derek cracks a smile against Stiles’ collarbone.</p><p>“Ugh, don’t you dare make a ‘sunny side up, scrambled, poached, or fried’ joke right now, mister.”</p><p>Derek lets out a little laugh, his first of the evening, before pulling back so he can see Stiles’ face. “Can you fuck me?” he asks, as if that will be a burden and not something they’ve already done a number of times.</p><p>“Do you have lube?”</p><p>Derek pulls a bottle out of his trouser pocket and Stiles raises an eyebrow at him. “Really? You were that optimistic?”</p><p>Derek gives a half apologetic smile. “It’s best to be prepared for whatever.”</p><p>Stiles rolls his eyes and grabs the bottle out of Derek’s hands. “You can go back to that position, if it’s better for you. I’ll handle the rest.”</p><p>Derek falls back down bonelessly, his nose pressed against the side of Stiles’ neck.</p><p>Getting his hand down to reach Derek’s hole is, Stiles will admit, a bit of a struggle. Stiles has never been so determined, though. He angles his shoulders so the one Derek isn’t by is as low as he can get it, and fumbles around with his lubed up fingers until he finds the cleft of Derek’s ass.</p><p>Stiles knows that Derek normally prefers him to take his time loosening the guy up. He knows that Derek enjoys the feeling of Stiles’ fingers inside him. But he figures that the point tonight isn’t so much the pleasure as the security and knowledge that Stiles is present, so he wastes no time.</p><p>Even with the first finger circling Derek’s hole, Stiles can feel the guy’s erection digging into his stomach. He slides the finger just inside, still circling but now using the motion to stretch Derek out. He pushes it further inside, as far as he can go - which doesn’t happen to be very far - and tries circling it there.</p><p>He waits until Derek is shaking, desperate for more, before he pulls his hand back up to get some more lube on his fingers.</p><p>He goes back in with two fingers and Derek pants against his throat. His pants stop for a breath when Stiles scissors his fingers open, stretching and loosening and stretching and loosening like a rhythm. Stiles knows that Derek can’t actually come like this, he’d need to find that spot that Derek had shown him, curling his fingers down, but he doesn’t.</p><p>Maybe it’s a punishment. Maybe it’s a gift. Be he scissors until Derek is begging him for more, until the guy is choking on his own fevered desire, and then adds the third finger.</p><p>Stiles is not small, is the thing. He has learned this primarily from Derek’s first reaction to seeing his dick, an almost alarmed fascination. He has learned this by the near fatalistic preparation that Derek had done when he’d first ridden Stiles a week ago or so, almost an hour of slowly working himself open, four fingers in his ass and a look on his face that says he’s not sure if they’ll be enough.</p><p>He knows academically that dick size doesn’t mean anything - anyone, even the least suspecting person, can have a massive schlong. But sometimes it feels like this must have been the Goddess’ gift to him. His mom had a crest, so maybe all of the potential energy of her crest was absorbed by his dick in the womb and that’s why he’s like this.</p><p>Regardless, he’s expecting to have to go to four fingers like they usually do when Stiles tops, but after a few minutes of three fingers, Derek says, “I can do it. I’m ready.”</p><p>Stiles highly doubts this to be the case, but he has to admit that Derek has more experience in this arena than Stiles does. All he can do is use his offhand to line up his dick and pray for the best.</p><p>The fact that Derek <em>can</em> handle it, as evidenced by his increasingly unhinged moans of pleasure in Stiles’ ear and the not uncomfortable tightness of his hole, is something of a surprise. It makes Stiles think that either their evening forays have worked to loosen Derek, or else the guy prepped himself a bit before coming. Probably the latter.</p><p>But it doesn’t matter, because Stiles’ brain is short circuiting a little bit. The reason why is not just that Derek feels almost criminally good on his cock, loosening on the upstroke and tightening on the downstroke like a goddamn professional. Nor is it just that he’s mouthing that spot behind Stiles’ ear intermittently that sends all of his blood rushing south. Nor is it solely the feeling of Derek’s own cock trapped between the two of them and grinding into Stiles’ stomach on each movement.</p><p>But it is all of these things, as well as the way that Derek, when he’s not mouthing at Stiles’ ear, is gasping, “I love you,” into it.</p><p>It’s all of these things combined that drive Stiles to the brink of orgasm faster than he’s ever come before while topping Derek.</p><p>The thing about topping, for Stiles, is that in some ways it’s less pleasurable than just jerking off. When he jerks off, he can play with his foreskin and the head of his dick, or have Derek mouth at them if he’s lucky, and that will get him off like a clap. With fucking like this, it’s good, but it’s a slower kind of good. A burn low in his gut that stays unignited until he pulls out and comes on Derek’s ass.</p><p>But something about the combination of things Derek is doing to drive him up the wall is working for Stiles in a way that this hasn’t, before. It’s kind of a problem, because he knows it’ll be less good for Derek if he comes too quickly, but he figures he can make it up to the guy.</p><p>In any case, he really <em>can’t<em> hold himself back, and so before he knows it the muscles in his calves and stomach are tightening almost painfully and he’s coming explosively in Derek’s ass. The guy doesn’t even stop when Stiles’ rhythm falters, just fucks himself on Stiles’ rapidly softening cock like he’d rather do nothing else, his hands digging into Stiles’ shoulders.</em></em></p><p>Eventually Stiles’ dick is the only thing holding in his come and some of it has started to leak out a little bit, but Derek keeps bouncing, the movement becoming less about the cock in his ass and more about grinding his own dick into Stiles’ stomach. Stiles considers offering to help Derek out with his hand, but the guy looks so blissful like this, his eyelids fluttering, his back arched, his face looking up like he’s gazing at heaven.</p><p>Seriously, it’s not fair that Derek is so pretty.</p><p>While Stiles is still basking in the sight of Derek and the afterglow of his own orgasm, Derek’s rhythm stutters too and he’s coming all over Stiles’ stomach, his come hot and wet between them. He’s panting, tilting his head forward to capture Stiles’ lips with his own, but he’s still just as graceful, just as beautiful.</p><p>They make out lazily for a while, Derek’s stomach pressing his come into both of their skin. It’ll be tacky and gross when it dries, but the cool feeling on his hot skin is almost pleasant. Not nearly as pleasant as Derek’s sloppy tongue in his mouth, but.</p><p>Eventually Derek pulls back and lays his head on Stiles’ chest, his beard scratching Stiles’ sternum as he smiles. His hair invades Stiles’ mouth and nose uncomfortably, but he can’t bring himself to say anything because the action is so sweet. He just kisses the top of Derek’s head and runs a hand through his hair to get as much of it out of his face as he can, and lies back.</p><p>They fall asleep like that, Stiles’ dick still soft in Derek’s ass.</p><p>In the morning, all hell breaks loose.</p><p>Stiles wakes to shouting in the courtyard muffled by his door. He pulls out, dick a little sticky, and shakes Derek awake.</p><p>“Wha…” he says, hair ruffled from Stiles’ fingers and their activities the night before.</p><p>“Someone’s shouting in the courtyard. I need to get dressed and see what’s going on.”</p><p>Derek rolls off of Stiles and pulls on his clothes beside him. When they’re both dressed - Derek’s uniform not fully buttoned, but as composed as he’s going to look - Stiles pulls open the door of his room and strides out to find what the commotion is.</p><p>There’s a clump of soldiers on the lawn, individuals withdrawing and returning from around the monastery like ants to their hill.</p><p>Derek’s voice rings clear over the grass, full of authority. “What has happened?”</p><p>“Your Majesty!” a voice cries. Stiles recognizes it as one of the Generals from the Imperial Capital that he isn’t familiar with. “Oh thank the Goddess, call off the search, we found him,” he says to the soldiers, who all salute and disperse.</p><p>When Derek strides up to the man, Stiles reluctantly follows. Seeing Derek in ‘Emperor Mode’ still feels wrong, like Stiles is an interloper to a parallel world he doesn’t belong in.</p><p>The man salutes Derek, and Derek nods regally. “You weren’t in your room this morning, Sir, and neither was your -“ he gestures to Stiles. Stiles crosses his arms defensively. “No one knew where you were. We thought perhaps Argent assassins had penetrated our defenses in the night.”</p><p>“No one thought to check his room?” Derek asks, sounding a little surprised.</p><p>“I - I suppose it didn’t cross our minds,” the General stutters. “Forgive us, Sir, for waking you so violently.” He lets his gaze drop to Derek’s clothes for a moment and Stiles feels sick. He knows what they’re thinking, he knows that they’ll blame him, and he fucking hates it.</p><p>Derek is perfect and can do no wrong, and Stiles has magically corrupted him with his evil penis.</p><p>Derek shakes his head. “Your concern is touching, General. Report back to the army headquarters, I’ll meet you there for the operations report.”</p><p>The General salutes again and turns to leave. Derek turns to Stiles, but Stiles can’t even meet his eyes. “I guess I have a meeting to get to as well,” he says, jerking a thumb in the direction of the white mages battalion in the opposite direction, down by the gate.</p><p>Derek pulls him into a hug that Stiles can’t bring himself to return. “I’ll see you later?” Derek asks hopefully, and Stiles sighs internally.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, because Stiles has never had good self-preservation instincts.</p><p>Derek kisses him on the cheek and heads back to the keep and - presumably - his room to get freshened up. Derek probably doesn’t feel five kinds of fucked up about this like Stiles does. Derek probably doesn’t feel exposed, like he’s walking around the monastery naked and everyone is laughing at him.</p><p>Derek doesn’t have to have the words ‘the Emperor’s hussy’ in his ear every time he meets with his subordinates, and know they’re thinking the same thing he is.</p><p>Derek knows he belongs here. Stiles isn’t so sure he has anywhere that he really belongs.</p><p>To say the meeting is shit is, perhaps, an understatement.</p><p>Stiles has been working with the various branches and their heads to reorganize the battalion, but none of them actually want to make any of the changes that Stiles knows will be in their better interest. Every meeting is Stiles desperately trying to explain why their current methods aren’t efficient, and everyone else sitting around in silence.</p><p>So when the meeting is done and he storms out, he almost forgets he has a standing appointment with Erica to discuss joint operations between their two battalions.</p><p>Stiles has to rush to the highest point in the keep, where the army must have constructed a makeshift aerie, and he’s still ten minutes late.</p><p>The morning must have gotten to him, because he knows Erica doesn’t give a shit about punctuality, but he still feels like he’s going to have an anxiety attack imagining a faceless commander silently judging him for making them wait.</p><p>When he gets to the aerie, panting uselessly and bent over clutching his knees, Erica waits until he’s caught his breath before pulling him into a hug that cracks his spine a little.</p><p>“Uh,” he says, feeling stupid about his reaction. “Sorry for being late I guess.”</p><p>“Shut up,” she says fondly.</p><p>He waits a minute. “Are you gonna put me down or should I just get used to this?”</p><p>Erica laughs and drops him roughly, so he stumbles against the railing. He’d been so focused on getting to the aerie on time that he hadn’t remembered where it actually was.</p><p>Which is to say, extremely fucking high up. With just shitty wooden rails between Stiles and a big fall followed by a loud splat.</p><p>Stiles stares at the ground and gulps, and Erica - bitch in chief that she is - slaps him on the back and laughs when he lets out a little shriek.</p><p>“Aww, is Stilinski a little scaredy cat?”</p><p>“I will rip your teeth out through your ass I swear to the Goddess, Reyes.”</p><p>She laughs again. “Derek must be rubbing off on you,” she says with a wink that sinks humiliatingly in Stiles’ gut, “I’m pretty sure he has used that one on me.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, looking around the aerie to avoid showing Erica anything on his face.</p><p>The place is <em>full</em> of wyverns. He knows Erica’s nickname is the Wyvern Lord, but it’s only up here that he can really see why. They crane their heads out of their paddocks to sniff her hands and dig their faces into her hair and her clothes. They make little chirps and trills when she scratches her fingers on their scales.</p><p>She looks happy. Really happy.</p><p>Stiles waits until she’s greeted all of the wyverns before talking business, but when he tries she just brushes him off. “I haven’t gotten to actually talk to you in forever,” she says. “Business can fucking wait.”</p><p>Stiles smiles a little. “What is, uh, up with you? You’re a Duchess now, huh?”</p><p>Erica rolls her eyes and shrugs. “It’s whatever. The best part was getting to see the bastard who convinced me I was nothing but my crest get locked away.”</p><p>Stiles nods.</p><p>One of the wyverns is circling the keep, rolling and spinning as if at play. Stiles and Erica watch it for a minute.</p><p>“Did you ever ask Boyd out?” Stiles asks.</p><p>Erica laughs and holds her hand up in a gesture highly reminiscent of how Scott revealed his marriage and Stiles slaps her shoulder. “Shut up, dude, I can’t believe it. Did everyone get married while I was gone?”</p><p>“Derek was real pissy that you weren’t even here and he had to officiate two weddings.”</p><p>“We wouldn’t have gotten married anyway,” Stiles says, looking out to the midday sky. No clouds mar it, so he can see a blue that must stretch for miles.</p><p>“What are you talking about, of course he would marry you.”</p><p>“No, I mean, Cora told me. The Emperor isn’t really expected to marry, just to have kids.”</p><p>“Pretty sure no one told Derek that,” Erica says, voice doubtful.</p><p>Stiles shrugs. He trusts Cora more than Derek to know this kind of stuff.</p><p>A second wyvern joins the first and they start playfighting, tumbling and nipping without much heat. One of them must bite the other a little too hard, because Stiles can hear a distant shriek. Erica whistles sharply and the wyverns swoop back to the aerie, looking sufficiently chagrined.</p><p>“Have you thought about kids?” Stiles asks her after a moment. “Whether you want them?”</p><p>Erica shakes her head. “Still not sure if I’d pass on my shitty crest to them. Don’t want to burden a kid with that.”</p><p>Stiles nods, turns back to look at the now empty sky again.</p><p>“It’s hard to talk about with people who aren’t you, you know,” she continues. “Even Boyd. For everyone else, they’re supposed to be positive things. I mean, Scott wouldn’t even really be nobility if he didn’t have his crest.”</p><p>“Besides the fact that he owns land and has a title?” Stiles jokes. “But, yeah. That was a big part of him getting into the academy.”</p><p>“So everyone is going to make perfect babies with their perfect crest combinations and I have to pretend to be happy for them, like it doesn’t make me feel like shit,” Erica says, voice laced with bitterness.</p><p>“You don’t have to,” Stiles points out. “Have you tried telling them how you feel?”</p><p>“Like I said, they don’t get it. I mean, Allison’s crest makes her go faster sometimes. Boyd’s crest makes him hit harder sometimes. My crest makes me good at magic and gives me <em>seizures</em>. None of them even know that I got rid of it, besides Derek.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you learn magic at the academy,” Stiles asks, “if your crest makes you good at it.”</p><p>“My parents wanted me to,” she says. “They hoped Deaton would set me straight. But I just… I resented it, you know? I didn’t want to let it win. It was killing me and choosing to be a wyvern rider, it was like the only way I could say ‘fuck you, you don’t control me’.”</p><p>Stiles nods.</p><p>“And, flying made me feel free. Makes me feel free. My childhood was a lot of wearing dresses and meeting potential suitors and I hated every minute of it, feeling trapped into something I didn’t want. Flying feels like taking off those weights, for a while.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Hard to explain that in a way that doesn’t feel trite or exposed, so I just… haven’t.”</p><p>Stiles stands next to her, shoulder pressed to hers and the silence between them expanding like ripples from those words.</p><p>“What do you think you’ll do?” Stiles asks when the silence is too much to bear. “With all of the time you’ve gained?”</p><p>Erica laughs a little. “It’s hard to even imagine. Fifty more years, when before everyday was a countdown to my last? I can’t believe it’s real, sometimes.”</p><p>Stiles waits for her to continue.</p><p>“I think I’d like to go to the land Boyd is from and meet his grandmother. Maybe we can fly around, traveling to different places. I always wanted to travel as a kid.”</p><p>“And when you’re done? When you’ve seen all you want to see?”</p><p>Erica leans forward, arms resting on rails that Stiles would not so brazenly trust. “I’d like to come back. I owe you and Derek a lot. I want to help you, however I can.”</p><p>It burns a little, hearing her talk about them like a unit. <em>youandDerek</em>. It hasn’t felt like that in a while.</p><p>Stiles shoves his feelings down and wraps an arm around her shoulder. “I’m sure he’d love that, but honestly, the best way you can help me is to be happy. I just want you to make the most of your life.”</p><p>She smiles tightly, eyes holding back tears, and nods. “I’ll do my best.”</p><p>“That’s all I can ask.”</p><p>They don’t come back down for a long, long while.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Cora A</strong>
</p><p>Not even two days later and Stiles is just about at his limit. He thought he was good at repressing his feelings, putting them in little boxes and sticking them in an unused closet in his head, but somehow that has only made things worse.</p><p>When he sees Derek now, it hurts and he doesn’t even know why. He’s not even sure Derek has noticed anything is wrong, which makes it hurt even more. It’s all too fucked up.</p><p>That evening, Stiles tells Derek he has some work to do and goes up on the ramparts with a bottle of his dad’s whiskey, surreptitiously stolen while the guy was in a meeting. He tells himself he just needs to get his mind off things. He tells himself he’ll just have enough to relax.</p><p>Turns out neither of the Stilinskis can hold their liquor.</p><p>But because he is getting himself hilariously and pathetically drunk on the rampart wall, he’s the first to notice a company of riders coming towards the front gate, just a few dozen yards from where he’s sitting. He hears a guard on the wall call out, “it’s the Princess! The Princess returns,” and he has to wonder when Allison left.</p><p>He’s not sure he wants Allison to see him like this. Stiles can imagine Allison’s face perfectly, caught between horrified and pitying.</p><p>No fucking thank you.</p><p>So he is laying low on the ramparts, hiccuping periodically and swigging a little frantically, when he hears a half-familiar voice say his name.</p><p>“Stiles? Is that you? <em>Stiles?</em>” it says, sounding frantic. Stiles sighs and sets the bottle down just in time for a slender body - definitely not Derek - to tackle him into a hug.</p><p>“Wha…?” he slurs.</p><p>“I can’t - they said they found you, but I didn’t know that you - I’m so happy that you’re back,” the voice says, and the sense of familiarity is growing with each word. “Are you going to say something or just sit there like a slack jawed idiot? You’re worse than Derek.”</p><p>He pulls back a little bit to see her face, hiccups, and says, “Cora?”</p><p>She grins, bright and beaming, and drags him back into the hug. “I missed you! Don’t do that to me again, okay?”</p><p>“Y - yeah.” It’s hard to remember precisely what he did wrong while he’s this drunk, but he must have worried her. “You shouldn’ever be worried,” he says, working the words out past his thick tongue and sluggish thoughts.</p><p>“Stiles,” she says, pulling back on her own this time to look at him, holding his face between her hands and turning it this way and that, “are you drunk?”</p><p>“Mhm.” He gives her a little thumbs up.</p><p>“Why the hell are you drunk? Should I go get Derek?”</p><p>“No!” Stiles says a little too forcefully. “Not Derek. Don’ wanna make ‘im worry.”</p><p>“<em>I’m</em> worried. What the hell is wrong with you?”</p><p>“Jus’... jus’ sad.”</p><p>Cora sits back on her calves so she’s kneeling in front of Stiles. “Maybe we should sober you up and then talk about whatever is happening?”</p><p>Cora seems to think about it for a minute before grabbing the bottle from Stiles and throwing onto the other side of the monastery wall. Stiles can hear it shatter against a rock or tree.</p><p>“Nooo,” he moans, making grabby fingers for it, but Cora just picks him up under the arm and drags him away.</p><p>After an amount of time somewhere between a minute and five hours, they must arrive at Cora’s destination, because she stops and knocks. Stiles feels a little bad for the door. Cora’s mean when she hits things.</p><p>She goes in and leaves Stiles leaning against a wall outside and he considers finding his dad’s tent to apologize for losing his bottle or maybe to find a new one, but before he knows it Cora is back and dragging Stiles away again.</p><p>“Where’re we goin’?” he asks, but Cora either can’t hear him or doesn’t care to respond.</p><p>Well, they’ll get there when they get there.</p><p>Eventually he falls down on a bed in a brightly lit room and watches Cora look at him, deep in thought. He can feel the soft pressure on his teeth that means someone is casting magic on him, and then everything goes to shit.</p><p>“Oh Goddess, fuck me,” he groans, trying to cover his throbbing eyes. Everything hurts.</p><p>Cora cackles, and the sound makes Stiles wonder if it’s possible to selectively Warp his ears away from his body. “Boyd didn’t say it would leave a hangover.”</p><p>“What did you <em>do</em> to me?” Stiles demands, curled up in a little ball.</p><p>“Turns out Boyd is especially talented with white magic, once I started teaching him. He developed this spell when we were trying to recruit your dad a couple of years ago. Sobers anyone up, no matter how drunk.”</p><p>“Holy shit,” Stiles moans, “stop talking or my head is going to split in two.”</p><p>“Didn’t know baby couldn’t handle a little hangover,” Cora laughs, the sound stabbing Stiles directly in the eardrum. “I’ll go get you some water.”</p><p>She turns down the lantern in her room so it’s barely there, just the softest glimmer of light, and Stiles almost cries in relief.</p><p>For his first time getting seriously drunk, this has really put a damper on any plans he had to do it in the future. Nothing is worth this.</p><p>Cora returns and raises a cup to Stiles’ lips and whatever she put in that cup must be the sweetest and coolest thing he’s ever drunk.</p><p>“It’s just water, stop looking at it like it’s a miracle,” Cora says, whispers really, before sitting down. “Now. What the fuck happened to you?”</p><p>Stiles finishes the cup despite Cora’s judgment and sets it down. What <em>had</em> gotten into him? He can barely remember it. “I, uh, was feeling sad. I’m not really - I don’t really remember why. Something about -“ and of course, then he remembers a little too well everything that’s been happening over the last month. “Oh. Yeah.”</p><p>“What? Come on spill,” Cora says, nudging Stiles’ shoulder. After a minute of silence, she sighs and says, “move over,” in an exasperated tone before climbing onto the bed.</p><p>It reminds Stiles of that summer night they spent sleeping next to each other in his room.</p><p>She puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him into her. “I’m really bad at this kind of <em>feelings</em> stuff, so you’re going to have to give me a hand here.”</p><p>Stiles sighs. How is he supposed to explain to the sister of the guy he’s dating that her brother makes him feel like shit.</p><p>“Whatever we say stays in this room,” Stiles says.</p><p>“Obviously.”</p><p>He looks down at his hands in his lap, engulfed in shadow, and sighs. “Sometimes I’m not sure if he even likes me, you know?”</p><p>“Derek?”</p><p>“Yeah. It’s like, I know he likes parts of me, and he says he likes me, but then he doesn’t actually pay attention.”</p><p>“What does that mean?”</p><p>“Like, if you asked him how I was doing, I’m pretty sure he’d have no idea. I can tell you how he’s doing because I pay attention and I ask, but he just… doesn’t do that.”</p><p>Cora doesn’t say anything.</p><p>“For a while I thought it was because we never do anything but fuck,” Cora makes a grossed out noise and Stiles pushes her over, “but I’ve been thinking about it and that’s only partly it.”</p><p>“Just tell him,” Cora says after she’s righted herself. “You know he’s an idiot, he won’t know anything if you don’t say.”</p><p>“It’s hard to be like ‘man, I sure wish the ruler of an entire country would pay more attention to me while he’s embroiled in the midst of a <em>war</em>’, you know?”</p><p>He looks at Cora but she’s chewing on a nail, deep in thought.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Stiles continues with a sigh. “At first I resigned myself to it because I figured it was just an issue of schedules. Like he’s always busy so of course he doesn’t have time to do anything. But I realized over time that it felt more like I was a thing he got to come back and have sex with, or throw his affection at, and not like a real person in a relationship with him. Like, we don’t <em>talk</em>.”</p><p>“At all?”</p><p>“Not about, like, things that matter. We used to get into arguments about strategy in school, but we also talked about what we wanted to do after the Academy, or how we felt about certain things, or what we liked… I miss that, I guess.”</p><p>“Huh.”</p><p>“I think he built up this idea in his head while I was captured of how we would be, and now he feels like everything’s what he planned, even if it isn’t. I don’t know, I don’t know, I’m just… I’m just tired.”</p><p>Cora considers for a moment before saying, “have you seen him at the Palace?”</p><p>“Huh? No, we haven’t gone back there at all.”</p><p>“Being the Emperor, it’s like - everyone wants to make him happy all the time. Even as a Prince, even when Laura was - when she was going to inherit, it was like that. He’s used to people who are constantly trying to figure out what he wants at any given moment and provide it to him.”</p><p>“What the fuck?”</p><p>“It’s just how it is. Politicians, servants, they all want the same thing: his approval. They feel like if they give him what he wants, maybe he’ll pay the tiniest bit of attention to him. They’d probably kill to be in your position.”</p><p>Stiles looks away, the feeling of guilt cutting through him like acid.</p><p>“Which is fucked up!” Cora continues. “They don’t actually know him at all, they’re just playing out fantasies with a person who doesn’t exist. Just because he’s giving you attention doesn’t mean he’ll be good at it, or that it’ll be the kind of attention you need.”</p><p>Stiles waits for her to continue.</p><p>“A big part of why he liked you - besides that you were cute -“ Stiles scoffs and Cora ignores him, “was that you didn’t do that at all. You didn’t want to make him like you, you were just you, and that caught him off guard.”</p><p>“How do you know all of this stuff?” Stiles asks, genuinely curious.</p><p>“You can<em>not</em> believe how much time he spent in my room talking about you,” Cora says. “At first it was ‘this new kid is so cute and so <em>frustrating</em>’, but over time it became more and more like ‘what if he doesn’t like me back? How do I know?’” She shifts around so she’s looking at Stiles. “He’s not used to having to read people. Our whole family is extremely blunt. If we’re frustrated, or happy, or whatever, we’ll just say it.”</p><p>Stiles thinks about Cora’s personality and nods emphatically.</p><p>“So he’s been exposed to two kinds of people, until he met you: either his siblings and parents, who told him how they were feeling, or fawning servants who want to fulfill his every wish. You’re not asking him for the impossible, just for something he’s never had to do before.”</p><p>“Huh.”</p><p>“To me, he’s just my goofy older brother. Mom used to call him her little rabbit because he had major buck teeth. So I don’t see him as ‘The Emperor’ and I know you don’t either. But we’re in the minority in his life. If you explain and give it some time, I promise he’ll be better. He really likes you.”</p><p>Stiles shrugs and Cora punches his arm.</p><p>“You didn’t have to sit through him talking about why he thought you were cute. ‘Cora his fingers are so pretty’ ‘Cora he’s got such a nice smile’ ‘Cora he’s so smart’. I almost instituted a ban on him coming into my room because all he would talk about is you.”</p><p>Stiles feels warmth flush through his chest. He can totally imagine academy era Derek sitting on this same bed covering his face in his hands and complaining viciously about Stiles.</p><p>“Goddess, he’s such a dweeb,” Stiles says to himself and Cora cracks up. It hurts his sensitive ears, but the sound is still a good one. Even if it is too loud.</p><p>“He’s <em>such</em> a dweeb. Laura was worried about him going to the academy because she thought he would be bullied, so we held him off for a few years.”</p><p>“Is <em>that</em> why he was so much older than everyone else?”</p><p>“That and -“ Cora swallows, “after the fire, we took a while to be okay, just the three of us. And then Laura died and it was even worse.”</p><p>Stiles pulls her into a hug. “Sorry I asked.”</p><p>“Those years were hard, but it’s not like I was never happy. It would be a shame to forget them.”</p><p>Stiles is silent for a long while. He knows Cora is staring at him because he knows she has barely any patience, but it’s still bothering him a little bit. “I still wonder if I’m not a good choice for him.”</p><p>Cora sighs and says, “do I really have to go back over -“</p><p>But he interrupts her. “People know. That we’re together. I know it doesn’t matter to him, but it does to me, when people look at me like I stole something from them.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“Every time I get anything, even through my own qualifications or hard work, it’ll just be his doing in their eyes. I’ll never get to be just me.”</p><p>Cora doesn’t say anything.</p><p>“And like, I can’t even say they’re wrong can I? He’s always going to be busy like this, and I’ll always be the one on the outside looking in. He’ll have kids eventually and I’m not sure that there’ll be any room in his life for me.”</p><p>“Did you not listen to <em>anything</em> I just -“</p><p>“Let me finish,” Stiles says, and Cora falls silent. “I know that he likes me now, for whatever mysterious reason, but that’s not going to last forever. I’m not so naive as to think that just because he likes me, that means we’ll end up together. Whatever I’m experiencing now, it’ll be a hundred times worse when the war is over and we return to the Palace, won’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah, but -“</p><p>“I’m not someone people hitch their rides to for the long haul,” Stiles says. “Besides Scott, but he’d be much smarter to get rid of me. It’s fine, I know how it is, I just don’t want to get my hopes up on accident.”</p><p>“Literally what in the goddamn hell are you talking about?” Cora asks, and she sounds <em>mad</em>. “He is head over heels for you. He waited <em>five years</em> for you to come back, even when we all told him you were probably dead or captured. He’s put his fucking <em>everything</em> into this war in the hopes that he can be with you when it’s over. It’s one thing to be frustrated with how he treats you but it is an entire fucking different thing to step on his feelings like this.”</p><p>“But -“</p><p>“No! I’m the one who’s not done talking now, so sit there and listen.” Cora has sat up on the bed and placed both hands on Stiles’ shoulders, crowding him against the wall. He’s so taken aback that he can’t even think about how it hurts. “He loves you. He is in this for the long haul. He saved a report you wrote about child abuse in the Imperial nobility and you know what his first major project as Emperor was? Implementing your suggestions. So if you want to play around at being a sadsack because you think he doesn’t like you, you’d be better off shutting the fuck up.”</p><p>Stiles can’t do anything but watch her go off on him, stunned to silence.</p><p>“If someone was mistreating you and he knew about it? He’d get rid of them or make them change. If there was something in the Empire that he could change to make your life better, or the lives of people you care about? He would do it in a heartbeat. You didn’t have to watch him cry at night when no one else was around because he was so worried about you. You didn’t have to watch him work himself to the bone because he wanted to get you back. So stop fucking deluding yourself about ‘not being someone people hitch their lives to’ because he’s already there, you just never got to see it.”</p><p>Stiles stares.</p><p>“If you asked him, I bet he’d marry you right now. I bet he <em>wants</em> to marry you, but doesn’t want to put any pressure on you. I bet that as soon as the war is over, he’ll get down on one knee in front of the entire fucking world because that’s how gone for you he is. So shut up.”</p><p>Stiles waits for the fires to die down and for Cora to lay back down next to him before he even thinks about speaking. His voice is quiet, trying not to unintentionally rouse her anger again. “I thought the Emperor didn’t get married.”</p><p>Cora sighs but somehow manages to still make it sound angry. “I said they didn’t have to, not that they didn’t do it at all. Mom was married to dad.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>They sit there for a while longer, the silence wrapped in the soft singing of crickets outside.</p><p>“Do you really think he would?” Stiles asks. “Pick me?”</p><p>“Goddess, you’re almost as stupid as him sometimes,” Cora says as she wraps him in a hug and pulls him down until they’re fully horizontal. “He already has picked you. Now go to sleep.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Derek A+</strong>
</p><p>It’s not that Stiles is avoiding the conversation with Derek, but rather that he can’t even manage to find the guy.</p><p>It takes him half of the day and an exhaustive search through the main keep, asking servants as he goes, before he manages to get a lead.</p><p>Unfortunately, it’s exactly the place he least wants to go.</p><p>Which is how Stiles finds himself slipping into one of the awful strategy meetings with his awful grandfather. Everyone is so engrossed with looking at a map on the wall that Derek is discussing that they don’t notice Stiles slumping down on a bench.</p><p>He’d rather fling himself off of the keep than sit through one of these, but if he doesn’t have this conversation soon, he’s pretty sure <em>Cora</em> is going to fling him off the keep.</p><p>Stiles is a little wrapped up in planning out what he’ll say to Derek that it takes him a moment to actually parse what the map is. The layout is painfully familiar.</p><p>Everyone is arguing around the central table and not paying Stiles the least bit of attention, so he edges his way around the room until he can properly look at the thing.</p><p>It’s strange how much a physical space can imprint on you when you spend four years trapped in it. He barely spent any time in the courtyard - a couple of public lashings and the night of his escape - but he can imagine them in crystal clarity.</p><p>It’s strange, though - the map of the interior is disturbingly accurate, but the exterior doesn’t have nearly as much detail. Some things Stiles can even spot are flat out wrong. He pulls a stick of charcoal from his pocket and idly corrects the map.</p><p>It’s awful, having to pull himself back to his time in captivity, but there’s something therapeutic about it too. He pictures himself walking around the courtyard, on the battlements, and down in the dungeons, but there’s no one there in his mind. It’s peaceful.</p><p>When he’s done, Stiles steps back to examine his work, satisfied that his pain wasn’t for nothing. Something catches his eye again, though - there’s no marking for the tunnel he’d escaped through.</p><p>The kindly guard who had shown it to him - the one who knew Allison as a child, who kept him alive for those long four years - had said it was an old servant's escape in case of long sieges, like the hidden path out of the Monastery.</p><p>Stiles marks the entrance and exit on the map and nods to himself, satisfied.</p><p>It’s only then that he notices the room has gone completely silent.</p><p>“... what are you doing?” one of the Generals asks. He sounds a little hostile.</p><p>Derek is at Stiles’ side in a flash. “Are you… is this from…?” “Yeah,” Stiles says, voice quiet. “Just thought I’d correct it.”</p><p>The rest of the people in the room don’t even whisper to each other, perhaps in deference to Derek.</p><p>Derek examines the map, gloved hand on his chin, making little nodding motions. Stiles is struck, not for the first time, by how handsome he is. He doesn’t move, though, doesn’t lean his head on Derek’s shoulder or press their sides together like he wants to. Stiles is already an interloper here, no need to put Derek in a difficult position.</p><p>Derek stops mid nod. He raises a finger to the map and places it on the passage Stiles drew in. “What is this?”</p><p>“An escape tunnel. It’s how I got out without being noticed.”</p><p>“Do they - is it commonly used?”</p><p>“No.” At least, the guard said it wasn’t.</p><p>“And you can get in from the other side?”</p><p>“If you know where to look.”</p><p>Derek inhales slowly, exhales with his hand over his mouth, and turns to Stiles. He grabs him by the arms and kisses him so thoroughly that Stiles forgets he’s in front of a crowd of people for a moment.</p><p>“Your Majesty…?” another General asks, sounding a bit concerned.</p><p>“We have a way in,” Derek announces like it's some kind of huge achievement. The assembled members of the meeting must agree, because discussion begins in earnest.</p><p>No one even looks as Derek pulls Stiles into a hug and whispers his thanks.</p><p>It’s nice. It’s never going to not be nice, hugging Derek. Stiles just feels strange doing it in front of people that think he’s worthless.</p><p>Derek pulls back and immediately joins into the conversation, taking the lead.</p><p>They seem to be planning a strike force into the Argent Castle. It’s not a bad plan, per se, but Stiles is skeptical.</p><p>“How are you going to deal with the King’s Mages?” Stiles asks Derek in a low tone. He turns to listen to Stiles and everyone else stops talking too. “It’s not just Kate. Most of them live in the Castle as guards to the King.”</p><p>“Allison and Scott -“</p><p>“Can’t maneuver easily indoors with their mounts. Neither can Boyd and Isaac,” Stiles points out. “A blitz isn’t going to work if you can’t get to the target fast enough to avoid being stopped.”</p><p>Derek turns back to the map, considering for a long moment.</p><p>“We could send in a battalion -“ the first General who spoke begins.</p><p>“Their battle mages are strongest in cramped spaces, where they can hit multiple soldiers at a time,” Stiles says, “and the Castle is built to exploit that.”</p><p>He stares at the map for a long moment, feeling like he’s throwing himself against a wall, before he realizes the simplest solution.</p><p>“What about Eagle and Lion,” he says, turning to Derek.</p><p>“Which part?”</p><p>“The first one.”</p><p>Derek’s eyes widen and his face lights up. “So you Warp us?”</p><p>Stiles nods. “My range isn’t that far, though. I would have to be in the Castle with you all.”</p><p>Derek grins and nudges Stiles’ shoulder with his own. “Just like old times, huh?”</p><p>Stiles scoffs and begins to say, “you didn’t even let me fight -“</p><p>When Duke Gajos stands up from the table and addresses Derek. “Your Majesty, we would all appreciate a bit more of a concrete explanation, I think.”</p><p>Derek smiles sharply at the man. “Your grandson happens to be incredibly proficient with Warp magic. He was an invaluable asset to our house during my time at the academy.”</p><p>Stiles rolls his eyes and mutters, “no thanks to you,” under his breath.</p><p>Derek continues even though Stiles <em>knows</em> he heard him, “we send in a small strike force to the Castle, along with Mr. Stilinski, and instead of trying to force our way through, he will simply Warp us directly to King Gerard.”</p><p>The Generals and Duke Gajos turn to Stiles with newly appreciative eyes and he feels a little like fresh beef at a butcher.</p><p>“Your Majesty had such an incredible talent in your army and we didn’t know?” Duke Gajos asks, and Stiles kind of wants to spit in his face.</p><p>Derek must feel similarly. “Mr. Stilinski is also a tactical genius, on par with myself and General Stilinski. The only reason you didn’t <em>know</em>,” he says, voice hard and cutting, “is because you drove him away.” Derek waves a hand. “You’re dismissed. I will put together the strike force. Generals, begin preparations to march.”</p><p>Everyone trickles out of the meeting until it’s just Stiles, Derek, and a disgruntled looking Duke Gajos. “Sir,” he says, “respectfully, it was never my intention to drive away your…” He cuts himself off as if he can’t bring himself to say the word he was thinking. Stiles can hear it echoing in the room anyway.</p><p>“Maybe it wasn’t your intention,” Derek says, eyes narrowed, “but you drove him away. Now get out of my sight. Your grandson is a hundred times the man you are, and a hundred times more valuable to the Empire.”</p><p>Stiles and Duke Gajos both look taken aback. The older man sighs, nods respectfully, and leaves.</p><p>Stiles breathes out, long and low, and Derek pulls him into a hug, gently guiding Stiles’ head to his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says, “that he’s so awful to you. You deserve better.”</p><p>Stiles laughs a little bit. “It’s fine. I don’t even really think of him as family, and it’s not really any worse than how anyone else treats me here.”</p><p>Derek pulls back and grips Stiles by the shoulders, looking into his face. “What?”</p><p>“What do you mean, ‘what’?”</p><p>“Who is mistreating you?”</p><p>Stiles shrugs, looks away. “It’s a long list.”</p><p>Derek grabs his chin and turns him back to face him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”</p><p>Stiles closes his eyes and considers if it’s actually worth explaining. He might be able to laugh it off and distract Derek if he stops now.</p><p>But he remembers the threat of Cora breathing down his neck, and even more so he hears Derek saying you deserve better’ not even a moment ago.</p><p>He sighs. “I’m kind of an outcast here. Everyone knows I have some kind of sexual relationship with you, and none of them actually know me, so they all think I fucked my way into whatever esteem or position I have.”</p><p>“What?” Derek looks genuinely taken aback.</p><p>“I mean, can you blame them? A guy shows up out of nowhere, begins sleeping with the Emperor, and suddenly some of the highest nobles in the Empire are talking to him like friends and he’s getting appointed an important position. It’s a perfectly reasonable conclusion.”</p><p>Derek’s face draws into an angry frown and Stiles can’t help but reach up a hand to push up his eyebrows. Derek rolls his eyes, but his face relaxes an inch.</p><p>“I wouldn’t have minded,” Stiles says. “If I get to be with you, I can live with what they say, or how they look at me.”</p><p>“...wouldn’t?” Derek asks, looking pensive.</p><p>Stiles sighs. “I guess the question in my mind is, ‘are we actually together’.”</p><p>“Of course -“</p><p>“We fuck a lot,” Stiles continues, talking over him. He kneads Derek’s forehead a little with his thumbs, drops his hands to cup Derek’s face, and tries to offer what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “We don’t really do anything else, though, do we?”</p><p>Derek is staring at Stiles, his eyebrows creasing again.</p><p>“It’s hard to ignore their words when they’re true. For all that I know you care about me, I’m not really more than… I mean, silence is the most flattering way people have referred to me, but what even am I to you? Your boyfriend? Your lover? Your partner?” Stiles pauses for a moment. “Didn’t you ask to court me?”</p><p>Derek has closed his eyes partway through Stiles’ monologue, and Stiles pauses to give him the chance to respond.</p><p>“I’m…” he says, voice a little choked. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Derek pulls Stiles to him, wrapping him in arms that could - Stiles knows - crush him like a twig. Derek is achingly gentle, though. “I didn’t - I didn’t - I’m sorry.”</p><p>They stand there for a moment, just the wind in the windows accompanying the sounds of their breathing.</p><p>“I know you’re busy,” Stiles continues. “I know how hard you’re working yourself, trying to end this quickly and bloodlessly. I’m really proud of you.”</p><p>He can feel a wet patch forming on his shoulder, where Derek is either crying or drooling.</p><p>“I’m not asking you to work less for me, although maybe you should work less so you don’t kill yourself,” he says gently. “I just… I know you’re doing your best in a really fucking hard position, but it feels like you’re happy to come back to me and have sex and kiss me and tell me how much you like me, but not actually be with me as a full person.”</p><p>“How do I - how can I be better?” Derek asks, sounding wretched.</p><p>Stiles shushes him and cards his fingers through jet black hair. “You’re off to a good start. I just want you to be interested me for more than sex and affection. Talk to me, listen to what I have to say, commiserate. That’s what I need.”</p><p>Derek nods, head almost grinding into Stiles’ collarbone. He grits his teeth a little. “I’ll try… I’ll do my best.”</p><p>“Listen,” Stiles says, going for soothing. “I came back, didn’t I? I’m not going to give up on you that easy, you big lug. I care about you too.”</p><p>They stand there for a while, in each other’s arms, until Derek manages to pull back and meet Stiles’ gaze.</p><p>Definitely not drooling, from the looks of it.</p><p>“You deserve… you deserve everything,” Derek manages to get out. “I don’t have the - my past experience has been... traumatizing, to say the least -“ Stiles thinks of Kate and frowns in sympathy, “but I want to be better for you.”</p><p>Stiles pushes a strand of hair off of Derek’s forehead and smiles as best he can. “I trust you. I’ll follow you, no matter what.”</p><p>Derek nods and sags against Stiles. He manages to drag them over to a chair so he’s not supporting some two hundred pounds of muscle all by his scrawny self. “Thanks,” Derek says softly next to Stiles’ ear.</p><p>“What for?”</p><p>“You said something. You didn’t just - just ignore it for my sake.”</p><p>“You should really be thanking Cora,” Stiles says. “She’s the one who bullied me into talking to you.”</p><p>“Would you have said something? If she hadn’t?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Stiles says, and he knows it’s the truth. And, wait, Derek knows it’s the truth too because he can fucking hear lies.</p><p>“You okay?” Derek asks.</p><p>“Sorry, just kinda, forgot about the fact that you can hear my heart.”</p><p>Derek smiles against Stiles’ throat, his beard tickling more than scraping. “It’s a nice heart.”</p><p>“Shut up, you’re going to make me blush or something embarrassing like that.”</p><p>“No one here but me,” Derek says, and it almost sounds like a threat. “I can say all the sappy stuff I want. You gonna stop me?” He pulls back so he’s looking at Stiles with a glint in his eye.</p><p>“You want me to?”</p><p>“Maybe I do,” Derek says.</p><p>Stiles doesn’t wait, just leans forward and pulls him into a kiss. He pulls back after a moment, Derek leaning forward unconsciously to follow his lips. “Just because I’m ready to fuck you on this table doesn’t mean we’re going back to only fucking around, mister.”</p><p>“You’re ready to fuck me on this table, huh?” Derek says, but his grin is a little fragile and his eyes falter.</p><p>“I am. A guy I know said you should always come prepared,” Stiles says, pulling a bottle of lube from his pocket and dropping it on the table.</p><p>Derek stares at it for a moment.</p><p>“What’s going on in there?” Stiles asks, tapping Derek’s forehead lightly.</p><p>Derek turns back to Stiles, eyes over bright. “You were that sure that we’d work things out?”</p><p>“Like I said, dumbass, I’m not going to give up on you that easy. I’m in it for the long haul.”</p><p>Derek leans forward, resting his forehead on Stiles’, and says, “I thought I was supposed to be the sappy one here.”</p><p>Stiles scoffs and begins to unbutton Derek’s jacket, but Derek puts a hand on his wrist.</p><p>“As much as I want to make love to you right now -” Stiles rolls his eyes and Derek smiles, “I want to do this right. Can we maybe talk? About everything that’s happened, everything that’s been bothering you?”</p><p>“As long as we still get to fuck after,” Stiles agrees, caught between relief and disappointment at the lack of sex.</p><p>“Always,” Derek says, laughing.</p><p>“I’ll hold you to that,” Stiles says, laughing back.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>On the Road</strong>
</p><p>“It should be you,” Derek says, and Stiles almost doesn’t hear him because he’s so focused on the game. “Who kills Gerard. It’s only just.”</p><p>Stiles, before he can forget, moves his rook so that it’s threatening Derek’s queen. Derek swears under his breath.</p><p>“What?” Stiles asks. “No it shouldn’t.”</p><p>The covered wagon hits a bump in the road and Stiles almost falls over. Derek catches him by the arm and helps him sit back up. “After everything he did to you?” Derek says, hand still on Stiles’ arm. “It’s only right.”</p><p>“I don’t care about what’s right, dude, I just don’t want to have to kill anymore people. Gerard deserves whatever comes to him, but I don’t want to be the one who does it.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Derek grunts, sounding unconvinced, but he focuses back on the game and trying to save his queen.</p><p>The wagon bumps again and Stiles says, “you know, I don’t know where you got this board, but it is a fucking lifesaver.”</p><p>Derek’s mouth twists when he looks at it. “It was my uncle’s. We used to play on long carriage rides, back before…”</p><p>“Oh,” Stiles says. He considers saying something else and instead shuffles across the wagon to the bench Derek is sitting on and pulls him into a hug.</p><p>Derek stiffens for a moment, then returns it fiercely. “Thanks,” he says when Stiles pulls back. “I - we never got to really mourn him, after I… after he died.”</p><p>“What was he like?”</p><p>Derek looks away. “He was funny and sharp. Really smart. He wasn’t that much older than me, so we were pretty close, before the fire.”</p><p>“The fire must have changed him.”</p><p>Derek looks down at his hands in his lap. “Yeah. Or maybe it revealed what was always there. Before - before he died, we found out that he was working with the soldiers that ambushed Laura. He - he <em>laughed</em> when I confronted him. It sounded just like his laugh.”</p><p>Stiles pulls Derek into his side. “You’ve seen so much awful shit,” he says, “and you’re still here, trying to make the world a better place. You could have given up, but you didn’t.”</p><p>Derek looks up at him, gazes into his eyes, and says, “I - I’m glad I have you. I’m not sure how I would have - how this would have - turned out if I wasn’t thinking of you.”</p><p>Stiles rests his head on Derek’s shoulder and says, “I’m not sure I could have survived without you, either.”</p><p>Derek kisses the top of his head. “I guess we’re lucky to have each other.”</p><p>Stiles laughs. “That’s one way to put it.”</p><p>They sit there in silence, cart bumping periodically, until Stiles says, “can you move my bishop four spaces along the right diagonal.”</p><p>Derek does so.</p><p>“Check, by the way.”</p><p>Derek swears again, and Stiles smiles.</p><p>“It’s so cute when you’re mad that you’re losing.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Derek says under his breath. Stiles cranes to look at his face, and the guy is looking at the board with an incredibly perplexed look on his face. Stiles laughs and leans forward to kiss his cheek before shuffling across to the other side.</p><p>He peeks out the slit in the reinforced canvas to see that it’s nearing sundown.</p><p>“We’ll probably be stopping soon,” he announces. “I hope you’re ready for me to suck your dick, because I’ve been thinking about it all day.”</p><p>“Oh no,” Derek says sarcastically, still focused on the chessboard. “What a terrible burden. I’ll have to really psych myself up for this one.”</p><p>Stiles laughs, leans back, and waits for Derek to take his move. It’s a formality - he’s already thought out all of Derek’s possible moves and none of them resolve the check or puts him in a better position - but it’s fun to watch Derek struggle at something for once in his life.</p><p>“Fuck,” the guy says under his breath, and Stiles cackles.</p><p>He doesn’t manage to come up with a winning move even as the wagon stops, even as Boyd and Erica peek into the back to say they’ll be in the tent tonight, even as Stiles is tugging on his shirt and kissing his neck.</p><p>“Derek,” Stiles says exasperatedly. “It’s a game. I would really like to suck you off right now, so can we maybe focus on that?”</p><p>Derek sighs and moves the chessboard off of his knees where it had been perched for the last twelve some hours. “We’re picking it back up in the morning,” he threatens, and Stiles laughs.</p><p>“I promise the night won’t save your king.”</p><p>“Anything could happen,” Derek says, leaning his head back so Stiles has more throat to kiss.</p><p>“You’re,” kiss, “just,” kiss, “planning,” kiss, “to move pieces around while I’m sleeping,” kiss, “aren’t you.”</p><p>“No comment,” Derek half moans, and Stiles can’t help but crack up, almost falling off the bench with his laughter.</p><p>Derek pulls him back up and settles him on his lap.</p><p>“It’s fucking criminal,” Stiles says, pulling Derek’s shirt up over his head, “that I can’t eat you out right now. Why couldn’t we have found a road that follows a stream or something?”</p><p>“I thought you wanted to suck me off,” Derek counters, pulling Stiles’ own shirt off roughly.</p><p>“I settled for a lesser fantasy, in the face of current constraints.”</p><p>“Lesser fantasy, huh? Do you have a,” Derek moans as Stiles’ tongue finds his nipple, “ranking, or something?”</p><p>Stiles doesn’t reply for a minute, too caught up in the feeling of Derek’s muscles moving underneath him and the sounds the guy is making when Stiles uses his offhand to twist the off nipple.</p><p>When Derek uses his hands to push Stiles lower, he pulls his mouth back and says, “number one is watching you finger yourself, knowing that you’re opening up for me. Number two is fucking you after you’ve fingered yourself. Everything else sort of changes based on my mood.”</p><p>Derek closes his eyes for a minute, maybe caught up in the image, before saying, “those are some good fantasies, but I feel like we can improve them.”</p><p>Stiles kisses down to Derek’s belly button before saying, “oh yeah? Tell me how you’d make it better.”</p><p>“I’ll,” Derek gasps, Stiles’ hand finally snaking its way into his pants to cup his cock, “get dressed up, just for you, and finger myself open on the throne. You can watch me,” Stiles unbotton’s Derek’s pants, tugs them down so his cock swings free, “maybe you get frustrated partway through and take over. Maybe get your tongue in me to help,” Stiles kisses the soft skin of Derek’s inner thigh while he jacks the guy off, trying to get Derek ready for his mouth, “and then you fuck me on the throne. Make me,” he gasps as Stiles closes his lips around his cockhead, “come right there, untouched.”</p><p>Stiles pulls his mouth off, still pumping Derek’s disgustingly beautiful, perfectly proportioned, velvety skinned, <em>elegantly</em> veined dick. “Is this a me fantasy or a you fantasy?”</p><p>“Why not both?”</p><p>“I’m not complaining, like that’s hot as hell, I’ll do it, but also is that what you find hot?”</p><p>Derek rolls his eyes. “Not sure if the middle of a blowjob is a good time to discuss kinks.”</p><p>Stiles grins, says, “I think it’s the best time,” and swallows Derek down.</p><p>Derek, it turns out, is actually a pretty good teacher, at least when it comes to deep throating. He knows what he likes and he knows how to do it, so it wasn’t hard for him to guide Stiles into slowly working his throat muscles open the first time, relaxing his jaw, pulling off when it felt too much or his gag reflex was kicking it.</p><p>Now Stiles feels like a pro. He swallows Derek to the base, his nose nestled in Derek’s pubes - which smell great, for the record - and Derek’s whole body twitches. Stiles waits there for a good few seconds, working his tongue around the underside like he knows Derek likes, before pulling up and working at Derek’s dick in earnest.</p><p>After a minute, Derek says, a little reluctant sounding, “in my fantasy, you’d tie me to the throne and gag me.”</p><p>Stiles pulls off of Derek’s cock entirely to look at the guy. “That sounds hot as fuck, oh my god. Why haven’t we done that before?”</p><p>Derek shrugs sheepishly. “It’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”</p><p>Stiles looks at Derek, face deadpan, and says, “you were just offering for me to fuck you on the Imperial throne. How is you getting gagged and tied up any weirder than that?”</p><p>“Plenty of people fantasize about the throne!”</p><p>“Do they? Really?”</p><p>“Shut up and blow me,” Derek says petulantly and Stiles laughs.</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty, of course, Your Majesty, so sorry to disappoint Your Majesty.”</p><p>Derek grabs Stiles’ hair and pushes him down playfully onto his dick. Stiles slaps the hand away when he’s going at it in earnest, not wanting the impediment.</p><p>“I’d be too loud,” Derek says a little breathlessly, “and you wouldn’t want to alert anyone to what is happening. It’s only natural that you’d gag me. And I was too slow in opening myself up, so of course you’d punish me by tying me up.”</p><p>Stiles moans around Derek’s cock, tongue playing with his foreskin.</p><p>“You’d fuck me like that until I was screaming, but only you would know because of the gag. You’d make me yours, completely, and I would love every s -“</p><p>Derek actually manages to talk himself into an orgasm, which is so impressive that Stiles can’t complain when he comes on Stiles’ lips, partially pulled off of Derek’s dick. Stiles pumps him through it, hot semen dripping off his face and onto Derek’s thigh.</p><p>“Holy shit,” Stiles says, “you’re that into it, huh?”</p><p>Derek looks like his orgasm punched him in the gut. He’s staring at the covering of the wagon and panting, body completely limp. It takes a moment for Stiles’ words to register, and when they do, he nods.</p><p>Stiles kisses Derek’s thigh again, licks the come clean as best he can, and says, “we’ll have to make that happen then.”</p><p>Derek looks so fucked out that Stiles doesn’t even bother asking if he wants to help get Stiles off, just pulls his own dick out and beats off remembering the way Derek looked as he came, imagining the fantasy he described, and it’s not even two minutes before he’s coming on Derek’s stomach.</p><p>He slumps down next to Derek, come stupid and smiling.</p><p>They sleep the whole night through, and it’s some of the best sleep Stiles has gotten since he returned to the monastery.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>To Kill a King</strong>
</p><p>The early morning air is warm on Stiles’ face as he looks about for the rock that marks the entrance to the Argent castle.</p><p>He and Derek had argued for a full day over the best time to make their move - Derek lobbying for dead of night - but Stiles won in the end. King Gerard’s death must be public, swift, and truly shocking to be effective.</p><p>The Imperial Generals have already positioned their armies to begin the siege as soon as they see the signal. The strike force - Derek, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Cora, Scott, Stiles, and most importantly Allison - have their nondescript outfits, minus Allison who wears the Argent colors.</p><p>They’re all perfectly ready to go, as soon as Stiles finds the tunnel.</p><p>So why does he feel so anxious?</p><p>Is it the return to the place where he was interred for four years? The thought of facing Gerard again? His worry that someone will get hurt?</p><p>Stiles can barely swallow he’s so filled with unease. Derek had to get him off twice the night before just so he could sleep.</p><p>He thinks it’s possible that the thing he fears most isn’t losing this battle and everything going to shit, but winning it. Who will he be when he’s not fighting to remove Gerard from power? Will he ever be free of what he experienced in those dungeons?</p><p>“Stiles?” Derek asks from right next to him, and Stiles shakes his head to clear it.</p><p>“Sorry, sorry, it’s over here.” He points to a large stone enveloped in tree roots.</p><p>Derek moves over to it and drops his spear. Stiles wants to offer to just Warp it, but before he knows it Derek’s feet have dug into the soft forest floor and the boulder begins to actually move.</p><p>Stiles gapes.</p><p>“Shut your mouth, Stilinski, you knew he was strong,” Cora says.</p><p>“I didn’t know he was <em>this</em> strong. Goddess above.”</p><p>A few moments later and the stone is far enough off of the tunnel that they can slip into its entrance. Derek winks at Stiles while he’s still gaping at the guy and Stiles hits him on the arm.</p><p>“Shut up, anyone would be impressed.”</p><p>“Oh, you’re impressed by me? That may be the first time that’s ever happened.”</p><p>“I’m plenty impressed by you -“</p><p>“Stop flirting,” Cora calls from inside the tunnel, and they hurry in.</p><p>The tunnel is the kind of cramped that can inspire claustrophobia in the most fearless. For long stretches it’s so narrow that they have to get down on their bellies and crawl. Stiles feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest the closer they get to the castle, and the end of all this.</p><p>Derek stops so suddenly that Stiles runs into him from behind and bangs his face on Derek’s chest plate. “Ow, fuck, what was that for?” he whispers.</p><p>Derek takes the time to turn around - incredibly difficult while they’re crouching - so he can see Stiles. “It’s going to be okay,” he says. “I’ll protect you.”</p><p>Stiles closes his eyes and tries to breathe, to keep tears from his eyes. Derek pulls him into the best hug they can manage in this cramped tunnel. “T - thanks,” Stiles says when Derek finally pulls away.</p><p>He hasn’t had someone who honestly wanted to protect him since he was a kid with his mom and dad. Stiles has been taking care of his dad, and then Scott, and then the whole house, for so long that he never thought about who was taking care of him.</p><p>“When we get out of this,” Derek says with the kind of confidence that cannot be based on reality, “I want to ask you something. Wait for me, okay?”</p><p>“Always,” Stiles whispers.</p><p>When they manage to catch up with the rest of the team, the tunnel is tapering up in the way Stiles knows means they’re almost at the exit.</p><p>“I’ll take point,” he calls to Allison, currently leading, “when we get out of the tunnels. Watch out for guards - we’ll be in the dungeons.”</p><p>And a few moments later, dim light dawns in the tunnel as Allison opens the exit, musty air flooding in.</p><p>When they’re all out, Stiles stops and feels out with his magic. As he thought, the reception hall - where Gerard must currently be holding court - is directly above them.</p><p>“Okay,” he says, steeling himself. “We’re in the right spot, but I have a warning. When I Warp you, you might end up a little bit off the ground. Just go for the throne as best you can, okay?”</p><p>The group nods to him.</p><p>“Okay, everyone face that wall,” he points, “and get ready on my mark.”</p><p>They unsheathe their weapons and ready themselves.</p><p>“Three,” he counts, “two, one. Go!”</p><p>Which is of course when it all goes to shit.</p><p>For one: a guard walks into their section of the dungeon just as Stiles is finishing the spell, its energies wrapping around all seven of his friends, moving them as a unit upwards.</p><p>For two: Stiles sends them a foot into the air instead of a couple of inches, and he’ll just have to hope they’ll be okay.</p><p>For three: he finally takes note of his surroundings and comes to the horrified realization that he’s standing outside his own cell. It takes a minute for him to even realize the guard is there because he can see bloodstains on the floor that they never cleaned from his last stay in this hellhole.</p><p>“What do you think you’re -“ the guard begins to say, but it’s cut off as Stiles Warps himself to his friends, leaving the sweat, vomit, and blood of his former cell behind.</p><p>Stiles is a Warping veteran. He’s Warped himself and others thousands or even tens of thousands of times. It never really gets easier to deal with the sudden change of light, sound, and smell after a Warp, though. Your first look, your first breath, always hit you like a runaway horse.</p><p>He’s glad to see his friends have recovered enough to be clashing with the guards in the reception hall. It’s the closest the Argents have to a proper throne room, a golden chair on a slightly raised platform supposed to be taking the role of the throne.</p><p>As he suspected, Gerard is there, watching the melee before him with a look of shock.</p><p>What he didn’t see coming, however, were the guards between him and his friends. They’re advancing on Derek and Boyd from behind, as Allison, Isaac, and Scott rush for the throne. Stiles has no idea where Erica and Cora are - presumably somewhere in the middle.</p><p>Stiles must make a noise when he lands to alert the guards in front of him, because two of the six pull off and begin advancing on him.</p><p>Stiles doesn’t hesitate, just crouches down slightly and takes off, his feet as fast as the wind.</p><p>The investment that Derek had made in him, giving Stiles the Swiftsoles after their victory in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, had never really gotten the chance to pay off, because Derek had never gotten the chance to really see Stiles run. They made jogging easier, sure, but their real power comes in moments like these, where Stiles needs to move with all of his might.</p><p>His feet barely make contact with the ground, as he sprints past. The two guards try to grab for him but he twists away from their hands and slides under the feet of the advancing four and comes to a stop next to Derek and Boyd. Derek hands him the spear he’d been wielding and pulls his sword from its sheath.</p><p>Stiles doesn’t hesitate, jamming the spear into the eye of the soldier closest to them, pulling it back with a spray of blood and sclera.</p><p>He sees Cora now, and she’s holding a sword he’s never seen the like of before, blade curving like a lightning bolt, hilt glimmering with power. When she moves it through empty air, as if to swing, it throws lightning at one of the distant guards, arcing to them and slamming them to the ground, unconscious or dead.</p><p>Erica has a bow in her hand and she shoots the archers, positioned in little balconies above the room, from their perches. Stiles has to wonder when she learned to shoot, but he doesn’t have the time to focus on it</p><p>before one of the Argent knights is on him, heavy armor clanking as they thrust a sword into the space that was his belly.</p><p>Stiles twists and rolls away, and Boyd steps into the knight’s space, holding a handful of light in one gauntleted hand. It’s blindingly bright - reminding Stiles of the Aura or Seraphim spells - and Boyd slams it into the knight’s head, sending them to the floor.</p><p>Derek is further away, closer to the melee by the pseudo-throne, and Stiles sees a knight advance on him from behind, axe held above their head. It’s instinct, more than thought, that has Stiles wrap his magic around Derek and <em>yank</em>, pulling him to Stiles and away from the path of the blow.</p><p>Derek lands on top of him, looking around bewilderedly before noticing Stiles.</p><p>By then, Allison is at Gerard, sword in hand, and thrusting into the old man’s chest.</p><p>Derek helps Stiles to his feet and calls out to the room, “your King is dead! Your King is dead, slain by the hand of the rightful heir to the throne. Put down your weapons.”</p><p>The guards, of course, don’t actually listen to him. It’s only when one of the older ones, perhaps even the one who saved Stiles, shouts, “Princess Allison!” that everyone in the room stops moving.</p><p>Derek has pushed Stiles behind him, so that he stands between him and the rest of the room, and Stiles has never been so comforted to see someone’s back. Especially when it blocks out the view of Gerard’s dead body, sitting limply on the chair.</p><p>Allison stands proudly and says, “my father forsook his chance at the throne, but I never did so. As the heir to the Argent kingdom, I demand you put down your weapons. You all know as well as I do how cruel my grandfather was. What had happened today was justice, for myself and my family.”</p><p>The guards, soldiers, and knights look to one another in shock, until the oldest looking one, the one who shouted Allison’s name, drops his weapon.</p><p>It spreads like a wave then, soldiers dropping their swords and spears. They don’t all fall to one knee, they don’t swear fealty, but they stop attacking.</p><p>Stiles will have to trust Allison to figure out the rest, because he’s kind of fucking exhausted. Warping seven people at once takes a lot more out of you than you’d expect.</p><p>Derek turns to him, helping him slump down the wall.</p><p>“Aren’t you going to send a signal to the Generals?” Stiles asks, weary. “They’ll go out of their minds with worry if you don’t.”</p><p>“I’ve got more important things to do,” Derek says warmly, smiling at Stiles and pulling him into his arms. “Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”</p><p>“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Stiles says, but Derek still takes the time to check Stiles’ body with his fingers for wounds.</p><p>Derek sits back on his heels and his face is so gloriously, beautifully happy - eyes crinkling a little from the force of his smile - that Stiles can’t say anything at all, just look at him.</p><p>“Fuck, I’m so in love with you,” Stiles says under his breath, too quiet to hear.</p><p>Derek kisses him and says, “I love you too.” When stiles gives him a blank look, he laughs and says, “enhanced hearing, remember.”</p><p>Stiles, feeling like all the tension in his body has melted away, can’t even bring himself to hit Derek like he normally might. He just lays there against the wall and takes his fill of looking at the guy. He’s sure his face must be the same kind of exhausted-delirious-joyful that Derek’s is, but he doesn’t care. It’s over.</p><p>“It’s over, right?” he asks, just to be sure. “We can go home?”</p><p>Derek looks at Allison, currently deep in conversation with two senior nobles, and nods. “Our work here is done. We’d just get in Ally’s way.”</p><p>Stiles lets out a sigh of relief. After a moment, he says, “so what did you want to ask me anyway. Back in the tunnel.”</p><p>Derek doesn’t need an explanation, just pulls out a little box from his pants and hands it to Stiles. “You wanna get married?” he asks, and it’s maybe the most endearing thing Stiles has ever heard.</p><p>He opens the box to find a simple gold band, the inside etched with the words ‘I’ll always wait for you’.</p><p>“Is this the kind of thing where I get to pick the words on your ring? And for that matter, I thought royalty didn’t even exchange rings when getting married, isn’t that a commoner thing?”</p><p>Derek leans forward and smiles against Stiles mouth, kissing him silent. “You can and we don’t, but I wanted to have something to remember this moment with. I don’t really care about weddings, I just want you with me forever.”</p><p>“Dude, we don’t need rings for that, but I’m flattered.” Stiles pulls the ring out of the box and slides it on his finger.</p><p>Derek leans his forehead against Stiles’ for a moment, their noses bumping slightly, and then picks Stiles up in a bridal carry.</p><p>“I’m only allowing this because I can’t move. Don’t get any ideas about this being a regular thing,” he warns.</p><p>Derek laughs, throwing his head back, and shakes his head. “I won’t, I promise.”</p><p>“Let’s go home?”</p><p>“Let’s go home.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Deaton A</strong>
</p><p>Stiles and Derek almost have a real, honest to Goddess fight when they’re almost to the Imperial Capital.</p><p>Derek insists that, because Stiles was the only reason they even managed to get close enough to the Argent King to defeat him, he should be at the front of the parade into the city. Stiles insists that if Derek tries to make him, he’ll never speak to the guy again.</p><p>They both know he’d never follow through on the threat, but Derek thankfully doesn’t push.</p><p>Derek rides at the head of the parade, Imperial glory incarnate, and Stiles gets to sit in the same carriage they’ve been riding back for the last couple of weeks, at the back of the parade.</p><p>They’re going to the same place in the end, so Stiles would really rather not have a hundred thousand pairs of eyes on him. Even just sitting in the carriage is already a little overwhelming.</p><p>When they finally finish and pull into the Palace courtyard, Derek must be waiting for him, because he opens the door as soon as the carriage pulls to a stop.</p><p>“It was a grand total of like, an hour,” Stiles admonishes as Derek helps him out, “calm down.”</p><p>Derek doesn’t bother to defend himself, just holds out his elbow for Stiles to take. Stiles looks at it like it’s an offensive insect.</p><p>“Really?” he asks.</p><p>“I want everyone to see the handsome man I’ve brought back from the war on my arm,” Derek insists, moving his elbow a little closer to Stiles.</p><p>“What am I, a piece of jewelry?”</p><p>“Really cute jewelry,” Derek agrees. “Everyone will be very jealous of me.”</p><p>Stiles sighs and rolls his eyes, but still puts his hand on Derek’s arm, scowling at Derek’s grinning face. He knows he’s not going to win this one.</p><p>The soldiers are used to the two of them and barely blink an eye. The Palace servants, on the other hand, are doing that thing where they sweep their eyes across the room to make it look like they aren’t staring, even though they’re totally staring.</p><p>Stiles sighs again. This isn’t really the way he wanted this to go, but he’s kind of almost married to the Emperor now, so he’ll have to get used to it.</p><p>They get about as far as the main foyer before Deaton appears at Derek’s other elbow. “Your Majesty,” he says to Derek with a nod. “Your Lordship,” he says to Stiles.</p><p>Stiles can’t help the involuntary grimace he makes. “‘Your Lordship’? Really? Can we not, please.”</p><p>“The heir of a Duke is styled thusly, I’m afraid,” Deaton says.</p><p>Stiles wants to scream, but he’s in public and it will reflect badly on Derek.</p><p>“Did Gajos acknowledge him?” Derek asks, curious.</p><p>“Indeed,” Deaton says, sounding bizarrely formal coming from the guy who used to run their strategy classes.</p><p>“Good,” Derek says and begins to climb the <em>massive</em> staircase in the middle of the foyer.</p><p>“Not good,” Stiles hisses. “I don’t want shit to do with that guy or his family.”</p><p>“You could swear off inheriting rights,” Deaton offers, “but unfortunately you <em>are</em> His Grace’s next of kin. The branch families would, I’m sure, be clamoring for the chance to take over, but I’m not sure I’d recommend them. As bad as His Grace can be, his brothers are a far sight worse.”</p><p>Stiles grumbles under his breath about the shitty family and Derek and Deaton ignore him, discussing the state of the realm and current politics.</p><p>When they reach what must be Derek’s rooms, Deaton stops short and says, “Your Majesty will have to forgive me for pulling His Lordship away. We have a long overdue conversation to attend to.”</p><p>Derek nods his head regally, the asshole, and Stiles says, “I guess <em>His Lordship</em> doesn’t get a say in the matter, huh?”</p><p>“Nope,” Derek and Deaton say in unison. Derek pats Stiles’ cheek and smiles softly at him. “I’ll be here when you’re done. If you get lost, just ask a servant to send you to my rooms.”</p><p>Stiles sighs and nods. “Be back soon, <em>hopefully</em>,” he says, glaring at Deaton a little. The man just smiles serenely at him back.</p><p>Deaton’s office in the Palace is simpler than Stiles had been expecting. He must have a larger premises in the city to match the <em>grandeur</em> of his rank or whatever.</p><p>Deaton sits behind his desk and motions to a chair for Stiles. “Sit, please.” When he does, Deaton leans forward on his elbows, threading his fingers under his chin. “First of all, since I haven’t said it enough - thank you.”</p><p>“Uh.”</p><p>“Without your efforts, none of my students would have been prepared for the war that came, let alone survived to today. You are the single biggest factor that led to the success of our campaign.”</p><p>“Thanks? I guess?”</p><p>“You’re welcome. I can’t say it enough - I’m proud of you Stiles. You have had a profound impact on me and your classmates.”</p><p>Stiles sits in silence, not really processing the words. At some point, when you’re getting effusive praise, it loses meaning and just becomes noise. He should be grateful, or appreciative, but mostly he’s just tired.</p><p>“Is that it, or…?” he asks, looking around the room.</p><p>Deaton laughs. “Indeed, no. I know that you will spend the short term resting with His Majesty, but I wanted to ask what your goals for the long term were. Now that you’re here in the Palace, what role do you envision for yourself?”</p><p>“Um, I, uh, hadn’t really thought about it too much. I mean, obviously I thought a lot about the end of the war, and being with Derek, but… nothing concrete, I guess.”</p><p>“As the consort of the Emperor, your main job - in the eyes of the Palace - is to make him happy and stress free. Many consorts choose to also take part in the apparatus of the state.”</p><p>Stiles considers it. He’s never been good with doing nothing - if he hadn’t come to the academy, he would have simply joined his father working as a sheriff in McCall county. “I guess I’d like - I mean, assuming I wouldn’t get in the way - I’d like to make the Empire a better place. Especially for, um, commoners and people without crests.”</p><p>Deaton smiles a little. “That’s a wonderful goal. May I ask, though, why you think you would be in the way?”</p><p>“I just mean like, being Derek’s - his ‘consort’ and all. I’m not sure if people would take me seriously, you know?”</p><p>“Why shouldn’t they?”</p><p>Stiles counts off on his fingers, “I’m a man, we’re obviously having sex, people get jealous, and I’m not really qualified.”</p><p>Deaton regards him silently for a few seconds, making Stiles squirm. “The Emperor’s great grandmother, Empress Laura the Third, was married to a woman. Did he not tell you?”</p><p>Stiles stares. “Uh, um, no, he definitely did not.”</p><p>“It’s not as in fashion recently, but the Empire - especially the nobility - has a long history of same gender relationships.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“As for you having sex, I should certainly hope so. That’s part of what people expect from you, as his consort.”</p><p>“Yeah, but -“</p><p>“The soldiers might have looked down on you for it, but no one in the Palace - or in Imperial politics - is going to.”</p><p>“Okay, I guess.”</p><p>“And of course people will be jealous of you, but I think you underestimate your own attractiveness and the extent to which His Majesty is obviously and incredibly in love with you. Any such feelings will, I’m sure, go away with time.”</p><p>“Well, sure, but I’m still not qualified.”</p><p>Deaton smiles again and it looks like a threat. “Why, Your Lordship, it’s a good thing you have me here to teach you what you need to be qualified.”</p><p>Stiles scoffs. “Aren’t you the fucking <em>prime minister?</em> Why would you take the time to train me in politics?”</p><p>Deaton looks to the ceiling like he’s asking the Goddess for patience. “I’d like to retire from this job sooner rather than later, and regardless of who succeeds me, they’ll need a lot of training if they want to support His Majesty. Why not have it be you?”</p><p>Stiles stares at him numbly. “You want me to be prime minister?”</p><p>“It is the position with the second greatest power in the Empire, rivaling only His Majesty’s. I can think of no other person I would trust it to.”</p><p>Stiles looks down at his hands.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Deaton says gently, standing up to walk over to Stiles. He places a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and squeezes. “Take your time to think it over. Discuss it with His Majesty. I’ll be waiting for your answer, when you’re ready to give it.”</p><p>Deaton starts to show Stiles out of the room, but Stiles still sits in his chair, staring at his hands. After a moment, he says, “I’ll do it.”</p><p>“Hm?” Deaton asks, as if he didn’t hear.</p><p>“I’ll do it,” Stiles confirms at the same volume. “For the people in this country without a voice. Not for you or for Derek.”</p><p>“Good,” Deaton says, smiling. “An excellent answer. We can begin work when you feel rested. Why don’t you go back to His Majesty’s chambers.”</p><p>Deaton calls a maid to show Stiles, but he tells her he knows the way already. It’s not a lie, he does, but mostly he wants to be alone for a bit.</p><p>It’s hard to imagine how life could be for people like Stiles. No fear of nobility ruining you for a misplaced word. No being used like an object for a crest you never asked for, or overlooked for a crest that you lack.</p><p>Yeah. Yeah, he’ll take the job. His pace quickens and he grins a little manically.</p><p>He’ll tear the Empire down and rearrange it into something worthwhile.</p><p>Stiles can’t wait to start.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Derek S</strong>
</p><p>Sleeping in Derek’s - the Emperor’s, really - bed feels wrong, on some level. Stiles wakes up in the early morning to Derek’s head on his stomach, breathing softly, and even though he’s woken up to this sight every morning for the last week, it never gets any less strange.</p><p>The room is, one might say, a little much.</p><p>Crisp white paint on the walls marred only by gold filigree elegantly depicting fleurs de lis, crowns, and - mysteriously to Stiles - little fanciful wolves. The bed itself is an enormous four poster, big enough for Derek, Stiles, and two or three other people. The curtains are a lush red silk that makes you stop and wonder if it isn’t water when you touch it.</p><p>Needless to say the mattress is high quality, but the sheets! Stiles is anxious even laying on them because he’s worried he’ll ruin them with his sweat. He has to imagine that these sheets are worth as much as the little cottage he and his dad lived in on the McCall lands. The duvet is the kind of thick, pillowy thing that must be stuffed with goose feathers, but it’s actual velvet.</p><p>Not to mention the rest of the furniture; mahogany and cherry and woods Stiles can’t even place carved in intricate patterns, and Stiles is supposed to store his clothes in them? <em>His</em> clothes?</p><p>The curtains on the windows are cloth of gold for fuck’s sake.</p><p>He had objected, when he first arrived and saw everything, but Derek had a sad little look on his face and said, “it was my parents’ room,” and Stiles couldn’t exactly object after that.</p><p>So instead he sits for the first twenty or thirty minutes of the day - before Derek has woken up and stopped hugging him like he’s afraid Stiles will leave in the night - trying desperately not to move and ruin some priceless object with a thousand years of history. It would be unbearable if Derek weren’t there to watch, his face so peaceful in sleep.</p><p>He’s even taken to leaving a book on the - gah, antique! - end table on his side of the bed, but he and Derek always end up drifting into the middle in the night, clinging to each other by morning, and there’s a full arm length and a half of bed space between him and his book.</p><p>Derek wakes slowly this morning, grunting and pressing his face into the skin of Stiles’ ribs like he can hide from the day.</p><p>“Mhm,” Stiles says when Derek groans. “Really? How interesting.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Derek says, kissing whatever skin he can reach with his mouth. When he reaches Stiles’ nipples and tries to suck at them, Stiles puts a hand on his face and pushes gently away.</p><p>“If you’re making me do this in front of everyone then you don’t get any until after it’s over.”</p><p>“Shouldn’t <em>you</em> be asking <em>me</em> for sex if you don’t want to attend this ceremony?”</p><p>Stiles scoffs. “With your libido? When do I ever have to beg you for a fuck.”</p><p>Derek rests his chin on Stiles’ sternum and frowns, eyebrows drawing together cutely, and Stiles can’t help but laugh. The movement jars Derek’s jaw and he grumbles as he sits up, rubbing his face.</p><p>Stiles pulls him back down and kisses him thoroughly. “After,” he says. “It’s not like I’m any less horny than you, I’m just too nervous.”</p><p>Derek harrumphs, stretches and yawns, and gets up to bathe.</p><p>Stiles wants to demand he wait for him, and only remembers at the last moment that if they both go into the tub, someone is inevitably going to get off.</p><p>He’s really hoisted himself on his own petard with this one.</p><p>When they’re both clean, Derek helps Stiles get dressed in the clothes the Palace tailor provided. They’re red - ‘is this really my color?’ - and fancy - ‘a tie? Seriously?’ - but Derek makes him wear them anyway.</p><p>The result - some kind of suit, presumably in the Imperial fashion, with a longer cutaway back, a vest in a similar color, and what Stiles highly suspects is the non-military equivalent of Derek’s neckerchief - is enough to make Derek pull Stiles into him by the ass and kiss him silly before Stiles remembers the punishment and pushes him away.</p><p>“You remember,” Derek says, “when you saw me in the tower, at the millennium festival, and you said I looked nice in my fancy clothes? Well, same to you.”</p><p>“Oh Goddess, wait, are you going to be wearing that outfit again? Because I don’t know if I can, like, handle that, emotionally.”</p><p>Derek grins and asks, “are you regretting the sex ban now?”</p><p>“Maybe? A little?” Stiles squeaks.</p><p>Derek ends up giving him a handjob before they leave so Stiles doesn’t have an entirely too visible boner during the important ceremony in front of the Imperial court.</p><p>Stiles has to enter the throne room from a completely different entrance than Derek, so he sidles next to Scott, says his greetings to everyone from their house that has gathered - only missing Boyd - and looks around.</p><p>If he thought their room was bad, it has nothing on this place. It looks like the cross between a massive, grand ballroom - polished marble floors and all - and an auditorium, with the Emperor’s throne on a red carpeted section raised a good ten feet off the ground, with stairs radiating out. Stiles has to assume this is so that the Imperial subjects or whatever are always lower than the Emperor.</p><p>Gathered on the ballroom floor are a strange collection of people - some from the Imperial army, some from the Kingdom army, and a large crowd of nobility, eyeing the other two camps with concern. Stiles actually recognizes many faces in the crowd from the Academy.</p><p>When he sees Boyd’s three chicks following the captain around like he’s their mother hen, he waves them over. “Hey kids!” he says when they’re close enough to hear him.</p><p>Hayden gives him a look. “We’re adults, you don’t have to talk about us like we’re toddlers.”</p><p>“Aren’t you like, sixteen, seventeen? You practically are toddlers.”</p><p>Mason claps a hand over her mouth and Liam says, “it’s good to see you again Mr. Stilinski. Er, Lord Stilinski? Or,” he looks to Boyd for guidance, “Your Highness?”</p><p>“It’s just Stiles, calm down,” Cora says from closer to the front of the line. “Also everyone shut up, Derek is coming.”</p><p>No one is actually on the raised platform yet, but Cora must be prescient because not even a moment later Derek steps out from behind a curtain and some seneschal or whatever scurries forward to announce, “His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Derek the Fifth.”</p><p>Derek sits down on the throne and the room falls into silence.</p><p>Stiles hasn’t really had much call to observe Derek like this, in his element, and it’s kind of absurdly hot to watch. Derek is giving some speech about the evil King Gerard or whatever but all Stiles can see is the calm strength he’s radiating throughout the room. He looks completely and totally in control.</p><p>Eventually he must mention the strike force because everyone else steps forward to the base of the stairs. Stiles has to jog a little because he was distracted by the view.</p><p>“These men and women,” Derek says, gesturing at the seven of them, “personally invaded the Argent castle with me and took down King Gerard, freeing the Argent people.”</p><p>He says some other shit that Stiles doesn’t listen to because <em>everyone</em> is staring at them, and it’s more than a little unnerving. He fidgets a little bit, noticing the well dressed nobles who give him curious looks. Do they know? They will soon enough, but it still is giving him fucking palpitations.</p><p>Derek begins calling everyone forward, one by one, to give them a fancy medal and announce what great things they did during the war. Allison, who still hasn’t actually had her coronation and thus <em>technically</em> isn’t Queen yet, gets special mention as the future foreign sovereign.</p><p>The longer it goes on, the greater the list of achievements - Stiles had no idea Boyd was involved in that many battles, or that Erica had personally killed an enemy General in battle - and the more he fidgets. When Derek calls his name at last, Stiles almost falls on his face in his rush to step up the stairs and get the shit over with.</p><p>Everyone else is kneeling on the third step down so Stiles does the same.</p><p>“Lord Stilinski,” Derek is saying, “son of General Stilinski and the late Claudia von Gajos -“ a hushed whisper shoots through the room at those words, “was kidnapped by King Gerard’s forces at the beginning of the war. Not only did he survive four years in captivity without giving up valuable knowledge, he managed to escape on his own -“ Stiles wants to object that he had help but he swallows the words, “and return to Our armies, traveling for a year on foot and on horse to deliver key information.”</p><p>The crowd is whispering some more, which Stiles can only hope is a good thing.</p><p>“On top of that,” Derek continues, “he served as an important advisor in planning the assault on the castle, as well as a key member of the team. Without him, our mission would have failed.” Stiles wants to say that it wouldn’t have failed, just been much harder, but he swallows those words too. “He even saved my life.”</p><p>The crowd breaks out into applause, which really feels unjustified. Stiles has to keep glaring at Derek’s fancy little shoes and chewing on his tongue to avoid saying that Derek was much more important to everything, that this is just flattery, and that they’re getting an inflated image of him.</p><p>“Rise, Lord Stilinski,” Derek says, and Stiles finally gets to look up at him with - if anyone could see it - must have been a shockingly angry face. Derek just smiles at him as if he’s seeing nothing wrong and Stiles curses under his breath.</p><p>Stiles steps up until he’s a step below Derek so the guy can put his medal on him, and when Derek is done, steps back down so he’s with everyone else.</p><p>Derek bids them to rise and turn around so everyone can look at their pretty faces or whatever and Stiles has to school it to keep from glaring at the crowd.</p><p>There’s a lot of clapping and more nice words and eventually the person who announced Derek bids everyone to go down the stairs and <em>this</em> is the moment Stiles has been dreading.</p><p>“We have another announcement for the court,” Derek says, not bothering to return to the throne. “Lord Stilinski has, in addition to supporting me since our time at the Beacon Hills Officers Academy, been the object of my affections. I’m honored to be able to say that he has agreed to be Our consort. We are engaged to be wed.”</p><p>A hush falls across the crowd, like they’re shocked to hear it - who can blame them, Stiles would be too if it weren’t such a long time coming - and Derek gestures to the smaller and less ornate throne next to the real deal.</p><p>“Really?” Stiles says under his breath, “I have to sit here the whole time?”</p><p>Derek doesn’t react, which Stiles takes to mean that he will and he will like it, and sits back down on his throne, the hand between Stiles’ mini-throne and his extended lazily. Stiles rolls his eyes where no one can see and sits down, holding out his hand so Derek can take it.</p><p>The crowd seems to be coming out of their daze, the whispers starting up again, and Stiles has to <em>look</em> at all of them now. He sees Scott giving him a little double thumbs up, but - the height of injustice - he can’t even return it.</p><p>The seneschal handles the rest of the medal handing out - mainly to Generals and officers who acted extraordinarily - but now he and Derek can kind of talk, albeit quietly, without anyone hearing them.</p><p>“How the hell do you stand it?” Stiles asks, turning to look at Derek, not even bothering to hide that he’s talking.</p><p>“Well,” Derek says, still looking out at the crowd. “It’ll be a lot better now that you’re here. We can talk shit to pass the time.”</p><p>“Won’t Cora be able to hear you?”</p><p>“Don’t worry, the acoustics are designed so even the Imperial family can’t hear us up here.”</p><p>“... can you hear them?”</p><p>“Every slimy word,” Derek says, his face never slipping or falling.</p><p>“Wait, the super hearing is supposed to be a secret? And you just told me about it?”</p><p>“It’s not a secret so much as no one knows the exact extent of our abilities. Most of them just assume that my hearing is a little better then normal, not that I can hear them from this distance.”</p><p>Stiles stares at him for a long moment, trying to work out what it must be like to sit on that chair and look at the world like this, a collection of pawns you have to pretend to be stupid around.</p><p>“The young ladies of the court are enchanted by you,” Derek says. “They say they wouldn’t mind being a concubine if they can have both of us.”</p><p>Stiles has to stop himself from grimacing. “Fuck no.”</p><p>Derek laughs. “It’s fun to mess with them. They think you’re smitten with me because you won’t stop looking.”</p><p>Stiles turns away, suddenly self conscious of how he appears. “Goddess, that is so creepy.”</p><p>“Many of them have grown up fancying me,” Derek continues nonchalantly. “Even when no one thought I would inherit. I’m a little surprised they’re interested in you so quickly.”</p><p>“Aww, does it hurt your ego that girls like me more than you?”</p><p>“I’m sure it’s in part because of your proximity to the crown,” Derek teases, and Stiles wants to punch him in the shoulder, or slap his arm, but he’s not supposed to. Instead he just squeezes Derek’s hand as tight as he can.</p><p>“Is that supposed to hurt?” Derek asks, finally turning to look at Stiles, his smile fond. “You’re weak.”</p><p>“Wow, fuck you.”</p><p>“‘He’s blushing’,” Derek imitates in a high voice, “‘His Majesty looked at him and he’s blushing’.</p><p>“I hate you so much.”</p><p>“I wonder if I can convince them that you’re an innocent maiden hopelessly in love with me if I keep pissing you off,” Derek says, sounding gleeful. His face is the same serene look he always has.</p><p>“I’m breaking up with you,” Stiles says.</p><p>“Or maybe,” his voice goes low like he knows Stiles likes, “if I turn you on enough…”</p><p>“Derek,” he whines, trying to keep his composure.</p><p>“You remember that fantasy I told you about? On the road into the Argent Kingdom? You holding me down and fingering me until I’m screaming your name, begging for your cock.”</p><p>Stiles breathes slowly, out through his mouth and in through his nose. “I sleep in your bed, asshole. You have no idea the world of pain you are opening yourself up to.”</p><p>Derek turns to him again and this time his smile is wider, more real.</p><p>“What?” Stiles asks.</p><p>“Just thought about going to bed tonight, lying down next to you, and it made me happy.”</p><p>“You’re going to <em>actually</em> turn me into a blushing maiden if you don’t stop it with this sappy shit.”</p><p>Derek turns back to the crowd, smile dimmed back down to his usual face. “You’re pretty when you blush,” he says, completely shameless.</p><p>“Not nearly as pretty as you,” Stiles fires back, squeezing Derek’s hand lightly.</p><p>He can see the tips of Derek’s ears redden, and it takes everything in him not to jump off of his baby throne and fist pump.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Epilogue</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Many Years Later</em>
</p><p>Stiles comes to much warmer than when he fell asleep. Even with three blankets and a wool coat, the carriage they decided to take north is clearly not set up to survive winters in the Kingdom.</p><p>The first thing he notices is that he’s laying down. Derek must have used the mechanism that turns their seat into a makeshift bed.</p><p>The second thing he notices is that his cheek is pressed against a metal buckle, presumably from Derek’s braces because, and the third thing he notices, he’s currently being cradled to Derek’s chest.</p><p>He hears a page turn and groans softly. “Sleep,” he says, voice rough.</p><p>“Mhm,” Derek replies, clearly with no interest of the sort.</p><p>Derek is holding Stiles to him with one arm, the other holding his book. The little lamp attached to the carriage wall provides just enough light to see Derek’s face. He’s wearing his glasses.</p><p>Stiles notices for the first time that he’s got an extra layer on. “Did you put your jacket on me?” he asks, bewildered.</p><p>“Pelisse,” Derek corrects. “You were shivering.”</p><p>“My <em>hero</em>,” Stiles says. “How dashing of you. I might even swoon.”</p><p>Derek grunts, not even bothering to banter, and Stiles narrows his eyes.</p><p>“How many minutes have you spent rereading that same page?”</p><p>Derek shifts guiltily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“She’s <em>fine</em>. Cora won’t let anything happen to her. The biggest danger is that she’ll be too spoiled and won’t listen to us when we get back.”</p><p>Derek sighs and puts his book down. “I know. I just…”</p><p>Stiles rubs a hand along Derek’s upper arm, pulling his adorable glasses off his face. “I get it. You just got back from a major campaign, you haven’t seen her in months, and you both miss each other. But we both know Laura is too sick to handle the trip, and it was already scheduled.”</p><p>Derek rubs his eyes and sighs.</p><p>“It’s just a few weeks. Take your mind off of the front and get yourself ready to be there for your daughter.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Stiles kisses Derek tenderly before reaching up to extinguish the light. He pulls Derek against him and settles in to sleep, only hoping that Derek will follow.</p><p>They arrive the next day, snow flurries swirling around them, and Stiles has to rub his hands together - despite his thick woolen gloves - to keep them from freezing.</p><p>Derek, the lucky bastard, apparently is naturally warm thanks to his crest and looks perfectly composed in his winter uniform. Stiles wants to push him over into the snow and see how composed he’d be then.</p><p>Scott and Allison come out to meet them, helping direct the Imperial guard that accompanied them to their quarters and hugging Stiles and Derek in greeting. Once a year feels like an eternity when Stiles was so used to seeing Scott all the time, and he knows Derek must feel similarly about Allison.</p><p>The two sovereigns break off - probably to discuss the campaign against King Deucalion - while Scott leads Stiles to his and Derek’s room.</p><p>“Dude,” Scott says as soon as they’re in the castle.</p><p>“Dude!” Stiles agrees.</p><p>“I know it’s out of our hands, but like, a year is <em>way</em> too long.”</p><p>“I was literally just thinking that! Someone needs to make some kind of Warp magic that could send me directly here because this is intolerable.”</p><p>“Aren’t you the Warp master?” Scott teases. “Why don’t you just do it.”</p><p>Stiles scoffs. “Don’t remind me. I looked into it while Derek was away and I’m a long way away.”</p><p>“If anyone can do it, it’s you,” Scott says, and Stiles punches him on the shoulder.</p><p>“You’re gonna make me cry, bro.”</p><p>They continue walking the halls towards Stiles’ room. The painful memories in the place are no less potent to Stiles, but they’ve been slowly overwritten by positive ones. So long as he doesn’t go to the dungeons, he can spend two weeks in the castle without a single panic attack.</p><p>“How’s the kid?” Stiles asks.</p><p>Scott grins. “We’re pretty sure Bertie’s got a crush on Laura.”</p><p>Stiles rolls his eyes at his friend. “They’re <em>kids</em>, Scott, I think it’s a little early to ascribe romantic feelings to them.”</p><p>“You’ll see when you talk to him,” Scott says. “It’s adorable. He’s been asking when we’ll visit so he can see her again.”</p><p>They arrive at the room and it’s the same one that he and Derek have shared for the last few years. Scott and Allison must have gotten the servants not to touch it, because it even has some keepsakes from their last visit.</p><p>“Get some rest,” Scott says. “I’m sure Derek’ll be back soon.”</p><p>Stiles, knowing how Scott is, says, “if he’s still with Allison when you see her, tell him to get his ass back here or he’ll be sleeping in the hallway.”</p><p>Scott laughs and jogs off, presumably to find their respective spouses, and Stiles slinks into the room, quickly stripping and flopping into bed.</p><p>Only twenty minutes later and the door cracks, Derek sliding smoothly into the room and stripping out of his uniform.</p><p>“Good discussion?”</p><p>“The usual, just updating her about the situation in the south.”</p><p>Stiles pats Derek’s side of the bed and holds up the blanket for him, and Derek sinks down bonelessly. They’re too tired for sex, so Stiles doesn’t even offer, just curls into Derek and holds him close.</p><p>Scott tells Stiles at breakfast that he and Isaac have a meeting with Derek and Allison with his most apologetic look, and it’s all Stiles can do to shrug and sigh.</p><p>He spends the day with Bertie instead.</p><p>When the kid sees him, he streaks away from his tutors and grabs Stiles’ legs in the tightest hug Stiles has ever experienced from a kid of his age.</p><p>“Uncle Stiles!” he shrieks joyfully. “Did Laura come?”</p><p>“She’s a little sick, bud,” Stiles says, grimacing apologetically to the tutors. They nod and back out of the room, leaving Stiles with Bertie in the kid’s room.</p><p>“Oh,” Bertie says, and he sounds devastated.</p><p>“But I’m sure she’ll come next year!” Stiles quickly follows up with, not wanting to make Scott’s son cry. It would be nearly as bad as making <em>Scott</em> cry. “And maybe you can come over to see her some time.”</p><p>“Really? I can?”</p><p>“Well, we’ll have to convince your mom, but if she says yes then I bet so.”</p><p>Bertie grips his little hands in front of his face and looks exceedingly focused, like he’s about to vibrate out of his shoes.</p><p>“You okay, kid?”</p><p>“I’m just so happy,” he says, voice wobbly. “I missed Laura a <em>lot</em>.”</p><p>“Aww, she missed you too, don’t worry. She was really sad that she couldn’t come this year.”</p><p>Bertie throws his hands into the air and proceeds to show Stiles every new toy he’s acquired and every piece of art he’s made, with the understanding that Stiles will transmit this information directly to Laura.</p><p>Stiles understands why Scott would call it a crush now, but he’s pretty sure Bertie admires Laura more than he’s in love with her.</p><p>The rest of the fortnight is spent between Scott and Derek, when they’re out of meetings, and Bertie. Allison agrees to have a private dinner with just their families on the last night, and Stiles gathers Scott and Bertie to plan their tactics.</p><p>“What are you three doing?” Derek asks from the doorway to Bertie’s room.</p><p>Bertie immediately covers his mouth with his hands and looks between Stiles and his dad. Scott winces and Stiles is the one who turns from the kiddy table they’ve been sitting around to grin at Derek as innocently as he can.</p><p>“Just talking about vacations,” he says, careful not to lie when Derek can hear it.</p><p>“What about them?” Derek asks, narrowing his eyes.</p><p>“Oh, you know, how nice they are.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t happen to be planning how to ask me and Allison to agree to the Argent royal family vacationing in the Empire, would you?”</p><p>“Who, us?” Stiles squeaks.</p><p>Derek shakes his head and sighs grandly. “You should have included me, I’ve known Ally most of her life.”</p><p>Everyone lets out an anxious breath before pulling Derek in to strategize.</p><p>The dinner is mostly uneventful. They eat in the personal dining room of the Queen, and Bertie looks much more comfortable here than he did at the formal dinners of State.</p><p>Derek must have requested some of Allison’s favorite foods, because she makes multiple appreciative noises when she sees what they’ll be eating.</p><p>Scott brings out an excellent bottle of wine and pours her a glass.</p><p>Stiles and Bertie ready themselves to start their arguments.</p><p>But before they can actually get their plans into motion, Allison sighs and says, “it’s too bad Laura couldn’t be here this week. Why don’t we come visit in the summer? I’ve always thought that once a year isn’t nearly often enough.”</p><p>Everyone else at the table stares at her for a shocked moment before bursting into laughter. Allison doesn’t look confused by their reaction, so Stiles guesses that she must have seen through them completely.</p><p>The rest of the dinner is uneventful, and Derek insists on leaving as soon as it’s done.</p><p>“He hasn’t gotten to see Laura much since he’s been back,” Stiles explains to Allison and Scott while Derek packs. “Sorry.”</p><p>When they get on the road, part of the tension in Derek’s body seems to melt away. Stiles ends up reading the guy’s book aloud to him and Derek even manages to fall asleep on his own.</p><p>Stiles follows him soon after.</p><p>When they arrive home a week later, Derek’s exhaustion from the front must be showing through, because he doesn’t wake even as the carriage pulls to a stop in front of the Palace.</p><p>Rather than wake him, Stiles grabs Derek with his magic and pushes him to their bedroom. His control is strong enough that he can even leave Derek’s clothes behind, which he has only once or twice used for nefarious purposes, and only with Derek’s consent.</p><p>When he steps out, Stiles can see the usual crowd waiting for them. He announces, “His Majesty is resting from the long months at war. I’ve sent him directly to his room, no need to worry.”</p><p>Most of the crowd dissipates, really only there to see Derek return. Stiles’ secretary hurries forward to inform him of his schedule for the next week, after which Stiles waves him off and tells him to go rest.</p><p>When everyone else has gone, a familiar pair remain on the steps of the Palace. Stiles rushes forward when he sees them.</p><p>He wraps Boyd and Erica in his arms and squeezes as warmly as he can. When he pulls back, he says, “what the fuck, I had no idea you’d get here while we were out. I can’t believe it.”</p><p>Boyd shrugs and Erica waves it off. “Doesn’t matter,” she says, “you’re here now.”</p><p>“I’ve missed you guys so much,” Stiles says, voice a little choked, and Boyd pats him on the back.</p><p>“Can you let Derek know we’re back?” Erica asks. “When he’s rested. We heard there’s a war in the south and we’d like to help, however we can.”</p><p>“He’ll be over the moon, don’t worry. As soon as he’s awake, he’ll know.”</p><p>They hug him again before leaving for their rooms. Stiles is left alone outside, steeling himself for what he knows awaits him.</p><p>Sure enough, when he enters the Palace, Deaton is standing in the foyer holding a thick stack of documents. “You know,” he says, “there are windows. I could see you standing around for ten minutes hoping I would go away.”</p><p>Stiles considers denying it and shrugs instead. “It was worth a try.”</p><p>Deaton shakes his head and leads Stiles to his office.</p><p>When the door is closed, Deaton drops the documents on Stiles’ desk with a thud. “Are these reports or do you need my signature?” Stiles asks, eyeing the stack like it could attack him at any time.</p><p>“A mix of both, to make sure you’ll actually read them all.”</p><p>Stiles sighs. “You were the one holding everything together. I don’t understand why I have to read reports when I could just ask you how we’re doing.”</p><p>“It’s been three weeks. A lot has happened.”</p><p>“And I prepared three months in advance with the express purpose of ensuring these three weeks would be as uneventful as possible.”</p><p>Deaton sighs and raises his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine. You still don’t have enough votes in parliament for the new budget, but that was expected. There’s a grain shortage in the south but we’ve already received aid from the Alliance. Otherwise, same as ever.”</p><p>Stiles sinks into his chair and pulls the stack of papers forward. “Thanks, Deaton. You’re a lifesaver. I’ll handle the rest.”</p><p>He doesn’t finish signing everything until the evening, close to Laura’s bedtime. He rushes to her room, hoping she’s not asleep, when Cora stops him with a hand on his collar.</p><p>“What,” she says, “did you think you were doing, leaving me with your kid while you two went gallivanting off to the north? I just got back from a war, you know.”</p><p>Stiles rubs his neck where his collar dug into it. “Ow, seriously? And don’t front, we both know that you love Laura way more than you want to see Allison and Scott.”</p><p>“It’s not about wanting to see those two, it’s about wanting to see <em>you</em>, dummy.”</p><p>Stiles stops, reconsiders, and then says, “I’m sorry. We didn’t want to go either, but it was already scheduled and we didn’t want to scare Scott and Allison. How can I make it up to you?”</p><p>Cora narrows her eyes at him. “I get my pick of weekends with you for the next three months.”</p><p>Stiles grimaces. Weekends are his free time with Derek and Laura. “One month.”</p><p>“Two.”</p><p>“I’m not negotiating with you on this Cora. I was gone for a month, so you get a month.”</p><p>Cora sighs and shrugs. “Fine. Your spawn is in her room.”</p><p>Stiles kisses her cheek and says a quick thanks before jogging off in the direction of Laura’s room.</p><p>Thankfully, it’s right next to Stiles and Derek’s, so he doesn’t have that far to go.</p><p>When he opens the door, the light is off but he can hear Laura’s clogged up breathing.</p><p>“Sweetheart?” he says softly. “Are you awake?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Laura’s little voice replies.</p><p>Stiles comes forward to kneel by her bed. He can barely make out her face in the dark, but he knows she’ll see him clear as day. “Hey,” he says gently. “Me and papa got back today. Do you wanna go see him?”</p><p>Laura looks away and it breaks Stiles’ heart.</p><p>“He missed you, you know,” Stiles says. “He spent the whole trip thinking about you. It’d mean a lot to him if you said hi.”</p><p>Laura sighs and struggles to pull the duvet off of her. Stiles opens the door to their room for her, lights off and curtains shut by some helpful maid, and she reluctantly enters.</p><p>Derek is still asleep, laying on top of the covers in just his undergarments. Laura looks at Stiles and asks, “what happened?”</p><p>“Don’t worry, kiddo, he’s okay, just tired. He rushed back home to get to see you and it was hard on him.”</p><p>Laura looks at her father’s sleeping form again and Stiles can see her certainty waver.</p><p>“Do you want help up?” he asks, and Laura nods after a moment.</p><p>Stiles lifts her under her arms and sets her down on the bed, allowing her to wriggle over to her father and look at him more closely.</p><p>“Do you wanna wake him up?” Stiles asks. “He’s been sleeping for a while. I know he’d really like to see you.”</p><p>Laura gently pushes at Derek’s shoulder and he must have only been dozing lightly, because Stiles can immediately hear movement.</p><p>“Papa?” Laura asks, sounding unsure, as if she’s afraid he’s mad at her or has forgotten her.</p><p>“Angel?” Derek responds, voice groggy. “Is that you?”</p><p>And he must pick her up and pull her to him, because she lets out a reluctant little giggle.</p><p>“I missed you so much, baby girl,” Derek says.</p><p>“I missed you too, papa. Daddy helped but it was hard.”</p><p>“It was hard for me too. I thought of you every night, angel. I’m sorry I had to leave so soon.”</p><p>Stiles slides into bed next to the two of them. “Do you want to sleep with us tonight?” he asks Laura. “Or on your own?”</p><p>Laura slides off of Derek and settles into the space between him and Stiles, squirming until she’s under the covers and tucked in.</p><p>“Okay. Do you want papa to tell you a bedtime story?”</p><p>Laura nods emphatically and looks at Derek, who considers for a few moments.</p><p>“Have I ever told you the story of how your dad and I met?” he asks, pulling back the covers so he can settle in.</p><p>“No,” Laura breathes, awestruck, looking at Stiles as if asking confirmation.</p><p>“Well,” Derek begins, “it started out with a young Prince and a commoner. The Prince was very lonely, but he didn’t trust anyone, not even his closest friends. The commoner, on the other hand…”</p><p>Stiles listens to Derek’s voice and watches Laura’s rapt little face, and he can’t help the surge of affection that shocks its way through him.</p><p>He would really do anything for these two. For his family, the one that he made himself.</p><p>He listens to Derek retell the story, corrects him when he misremembers, and before they know it their daughter is fast asleep.</p><p>Derek leans over to kiss her forehead, and then further to kiss Stiles’. “Good night,” he says, voice just as fond as ever.</p><p>“Good night,” Stiles says like it’s a promise.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For those curious: the ring Stiles gives Derek says 'I'll always come back to you'.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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